Acquittal
by coffeeonthepatio
Summary: Snape, known evil git, is teaching at Hogwarts again when Hermione, Gryffindor Princess and girlfriend of Ron Weasley, returns to finish her 7th year. Feeling alone, she seeks solace somewhere only one other person knows about. ::canon except epilogue.::
1. Chapter 1

_**I don't own any of the characters that you might recognise. I don't make money with this (I wish I did – I truly do but sadly, no). **_

_**xx**_

"NEWTS," he explained, his voice raspy, "are the most important exams you will take in this school. I could not care less if you fail or pass – but the potions this and next term will be volatile, outright dangerous or poisonous. Furthermore, I do not want to rush any of you to the Hospital Wing because you weren't paying attention and I do want my classroom and this castle to be in one piece once this year is over. So if you could hold your dunderheaded stunts until you're in Divination or Care for Magical Creatures..."

His robes billowed as he turned around rapidly to face the class for the first time. Ten students in total. A nice, even size. Five Ravenclaws, three Slytherins, two Gryffindors. Severus Snape groaned inwardly. It had to be the Weasley Girl and Granger. The two most exasperating females that house ever produced in his class – and Loony Lovegood right next to the red-head. Maybe seven students would have been a better size for his class.

All of them, however, looked at him in a mix of surprise, shock, disbelief and fear. 'Good,' he thought, 'let them be afraid.'

True, nobody had known that he would be teaching this year. After all, he had left in disgrace, he had allegedly died, and then, thanks to Poppy Pomfrey and a team of Healers from St Mungo's, plus a nice anti-dote he had brewed when he had had the chance to milk Nagini a year or so before, had resurrected him. Or simply brought him back from the death-like state he had been in.

And wonderfully enough, people had grovelled. The current Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt had grovelled, his former colleagues had grovelled, including, but not limited to Filius Flitwick, Pomona Sprout, Rubeus Hagrid, Aurora Sinistra, Septima Vector, and the person who had grovelled the most had been Minerva McGonagall. She had basically been begging his forgiveness on her kness (well, that was exaggerated but it would have been nice. In reality, it had been a _heart-warming_ look in the eye, a few tears on her part, a wobbly handshake and a, shock, hug).

And because he had nothing better to do – and wasn't really sure he would get a job, an income anywhere else, and he did not fancy being an independent brewer (because, honest, who would want to buy potions from a murderer, even though the Wizengamot in all his wisdom, had found him not guilty), he had turned to teaching again.

Trust the Boy-who-lived-again-and-again-and-again to take his side in a quick trial that was over before it had begun. Pensieved memories, Veritaserum and he had been free to go. Two days in a cell in the Ministry was all it had taken.

"And so it begins," he spoke softly, the venom back in his voice. Though the rasp wasn't gone. It probably wouldn't. Not ever. Damn snake. "Draught of Diplomacy. Instructions on the board. Begin."

Quietly, he moved back to his desk and sat down. Sometimes, like today, he strongly felt the toll the war had taken on him. His voice would be almost gone by the end of the day, the wounds on his neck where that snake had bitten him had barely healed and hurt and itched under those high collars, his legs sometimes shook and he had to sit down instantly, otherwise they would crumble and he would fall unceremoniously. The nightmares were kept at bay with Dreamless Sleep. At least one consolation.

On a bad day, the legs were worst and today, the first day of classes, September 2nd, was naturally such a day. Especially, since some of those nosy, idiotic children were still staring at him wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Damn Weasley Girl, damn Know-It-All-Granger. And he thought they were done staring by the time the Feast had ended the night before. All the students, all the children, everyone, even the Muggleborn First Years, had stared at him. Not that he had acknowledged them. He had just eaten, then left.

Back to the dungeons, where he belonged.

"Are you quite done staring at me?" he asked the two Gryffindors and the Loony. "You have exactly an hour and twenty minutes until the potion is on my desk."

And with that, his eyes went back to the parchment on his desk. He had to do his lesson plans for the Sixth Years. Had been a while since he had taught them.

xx

Hermione shot Ginny and Luna a look – one that she hoped would convey all her sentiments on the subject of Professor Snape. Puzzlement, mostly. Yes, she had read that he was still alive in the Daily Prophet and even in the Quibbler and the Evening Prophet, but most of them had only reported that he was alive – not that he would be teaching. She had fully expected old Slughorn again. With him, it would have been simpler. But she would need at least an E in Potions in her NEWTs, if she wanted to go into Healing or Magical Law Enforcement. Both good options. She had not quite decided yet.

An E was a must though – and with Snape correcting her essays, her assignments and grading her potions (and that would make up 60 percent of her final grade after all) and an independently graded NEWT could only make up for so much.

She squinted, looked at the board and started preparing her ingredients. She had no intention of making him belittle her any more. She would not make the mistakes she had made in the past. No excessive hand-raising and feeling the pathological need to answer all the questions asked. She would demonstrate that the War had matured her. And it most certainly had.

Some days, when the weather changed, especially, she could feel the ache and tremors in her limbs – courtesy of Bellatrix Lestrange and her Cruciatus. And today was one of those days. It had been rather cold and rainy the last fortnight or so and just this morning, the sun was up with a blaze and the temperature had risen. One of those painful, achy days. Not that anyone knew. Why should she tell them?

Her best friends had gone straight to Auror Training, not bothering to redo their Seventh Year. She had been offered positions as well – but she wanted to finish what she had started. She wanted those NEWTs, she didn't want a job just because she had helped bring down Voldemort. She didn't need gifts, didn't want gifts. Or perks. No, she would work for what she wanted. Hard, if she had to.

Not that Ron understood. She paused, the knife in her hand in mid-air and smiled. Ron. She was, without a doubt, in love with that bloke. But when he had asked her to not go back to Hogwarts, to move in with him and start working, she had to refuse. Not that she didn't want that – it would have been nice to be with him all the time but school was, at the moment, at least, more important. And he had promised to come and see her every free weekend he had.

Just as Harry would come see Ginny. She cast a look at the girl next to her. Somehow, they had started being kind of friends – even though, if she was honest with herself, she wasn't quite comfortable with Ron's younger sister. Probably because she knew her brother so intimately, or maybe just because Ginny wasn't exactly her kind of person.

Quidditch-crazy, openly flirty (despite her relationship to Harry), vivacious, not too bothered with her school-work. Like now – chatting with Luna under a Muffliato while chopping her pickled frogs eyes too finely.

No – she would not make the same mistakes she had done back then. She would not help her classmates. At least not in Snape's class. It would only cause her to lose points. She would be a good student in his class. And she would not be...

"And Harry said that he would be...," Ginny said, suddenly aloud.

Hermione's eyes flew up from her chopping board to Snape and he grinned maliciously. "Miss Weasley, I'm sure we're all interested to see what Mister Potter is up to again this year but maybe he should have told you that the Muffliato spell can easily be cancelled by anyone. Especially when you can see their mouths moving but not sound coming forth. Five points from Gryffindor for talking in class from you, Miss Lovegood and Miss Granger. And a further five from Gryffindor for plain stupidity."

"I haven't...," Hermione wanted to protest before she cut herself off. It wouldn't do. No it wouldn't do.

"And five points from Miss Granger," he smirked. "What a wonderful start of term."

Seething, she looked back at her ingredients. 'He will not bait me, he will not bait me,' she repeated in her head. And still, she had already lost ten points. For doing nothing. He hadn't changed. Nothing had changed. Except now it was Luna and Ginny next to her instead of Ron and Harry.

She lit the fire underneath the cauldron and found herself missing her best friends. Nobody could substitute them.

xx

That would teach them to use that spell in his class. He still had it, apparently. When this week was over, people, students and fellow teachers alike, would not talk about his love for Lily any more. They would talk about the evil teacher who took points and handed out detentions, who didn't have a heart, and feelings, and they would, hopefully, leave him alone then.

The first period of the day – and he longed to be back in his quarters. That would not do.

But luckily, he would be able to hand out a few zeros for the day. The Draught of Diplomacy, one of his own concoctions, had never been successfully brewed by anyone but him. Unfair, yes. Very.

He allowed himself a tiny smirk as he got up, despite the trembling in his legs. He would walk around once, then sit down again. Damn weather. Those changes in temperature always caused the tremors that he still had from being under the Cruciatus to increase. And the wobbly legs were just an added bonus. Besides, it made his neck hurt and itch even more.

Soon, as soon as the school year had started decently, he would hopefully find a little time to work on something that could take care of those things. So far, he had not been successful. But he would be. Only teaching without spying would be infinitely easy. And the spare time he would have. All the nights for himself. Well, apart from those that he had to spent listening to the headmistress waffling on about one thing or another. But he could always resort to Occlumency and, even under her watchful eye (Merlin only knew when she had learned Legilimency but he had felt her probing into his mind the other day), think of something else. A formula for a potion for the tremors, probably, or new chores to have the students do during detention. Scrubbing cauldrons was getting old. One thing he wanted to avoid doing was getting predictable. Well, apart from the predictable snarkiness. And the predictable evilness. And everything else that predictably characterised him.

His legs were getting weaker and he just got to his chair in time. A formula. Something.

xx

Hermione's hands began to shake harder when she put the final ingredient into the bubbling cauldron. She grabbed the stirring rod tighter, her knuckles white and concentrated hard on making those tremors go away. They never did. They never would.

At least that was what the literature said; the little research she had been able to do during the one, first carefree summer in years, had brought up absolutely nothing. But actually, she really had had little time in between helping Harry sort out Grimmauld Place further, looking for her parents in Australia (not finding them yet but hiring a P.I. to do the work while she was back at school – even though that took a large chunk out of her savings), and spending lots and lots of time with Ron.

Ron – Ron. She already missed him a lot.

The draught turned slimy green and she raised her eyebrows. Was it supposed to be that way? The instructions on the board said nothing about the colour it should be. Well, this was as good as it would get. She had added the ingredients in exactly the same order it said on the board and if it turned out incorrectly, well, she had done her best.

Besides, if Snape was adamant on making her look bad, he would succeed, no matter what. She could do her best work, and he would still give her bad grades. That was the way he worked.

Risking a glance though, at Ginny's cauldron, then Luna's, she saw that they had both masses of different thickness and colours. Luna's was white but it looked like the stirring was difficult, it was too gooey, and Ginny's was puce and thin.

She shrugged again, bottled it and with difficulty (damn legs, damn tremors, damn weather), she got up and with an air as arrogant as she could muster, she delivered the vial.

Odd, that, she looked at him for a moment, her eyes meeting his, and she was sure that she had seen the old Snape. The one from her first year, back before she knew about his Death-Eating-Days, back before she knew he was a spy, back before she believed him not to be a spy, and back before she knew that he had murdered Albus Dumbledore. No, in that moment, she didn't see all that.

She saw the unfair Potions Master. Nothing more and nothing less.

And, to be fair to the man (whether he deserved it or not), she would try and continue to see it that way.

xx

So – someone had managed to brew the potion correctly. And of course it had to be Hermione Granger, silly Gryffindor Princess.

And the way she impudently stared at him when she brought it up to his desk – that was presumptuous. Yes, yes, of course. All of them thought had some kind of power over him – just because they knew of one of his weaknesses. Lily. Gone forever. He understood that now.

She would never come back and he had to accept that. And now, having survived the War he had never expected to survive, he had no hope to see her in an afterlife (if such a thing existed) soon. No, he would live as long as possible – bother as many students and colleagues as possible – and read at least three books a week, develop at least one potion every six months and would keep out of the way of socialising.

So – he had big plans for the rest of his life.

_**xx**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

The Headmistress tapped her fingers on her desk and waited, with raised eyebrows, for the answer of her counterpart. Or was that opponent? She knew better than to press him, or corner him, or pressure him. But she needed an answer.

"Look, Severus, just think about it," she said testily, "and tell me when you've decided. Tomorrow."

"Rushed, headmistress?" he sneered.

"I have an appointment with Miss Granger," she replied annoyed.

"Poor girl sad that she didn't make Head Girl when she expected it?"

She huffed and pointed with her wand at the door. "I'll come by your quarters after dinner tonight."

He nodded curtly, got up and moved towards the door of her office. Throwing over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought, he added: "I won't do it, headmistress. Neither. Thank you very much."

Minerva McGonagall huffed again, a Gaelic expletive escaping her lips before she could stop herself and sadly, she looked over to Fawkes's perch. It was empty. But she hadn't had the heart to put it away yet – still hoping that somehow, the bird would come back. Apparently, Severus hadn't been able either to have someone take it away.

The dear man. Was even more in his shell than ever before and the headmistress knew that she was partially to blame for the fact that he didn't warm to her any more. She had not trusted him – she had mistrusted Albus Dumbledore. Big mistake. Huge mistake.

She shook her head to rid herself of those maudlin thoughts she usually had after meeting with Severus and concentrated on seeing Hermione Granger. She knew the Gryffindor expected an explanation as to why she hadn't made Head Girl. And had lost her Prefect Badge.

There was an explanation. There were reasons. But the, sometimes, overachieving, young woman would have a hard time accepting those. As she would have had – in case those privileges would have been taken from her.

She heard the stairs and straightened herself. The next ten, fifteen minutes would be hard.

"Miss Granger," she smiled quickly and pointed at a chair. "Tea?"

Hermione nodded. "Thank you."

"I suppose you know why you are here," Minerva began and knocked for an house-elf.

"I suspect something," Hermione replied defensively.

"Cani, please bring tea for me and Miss Granger," she said softly to the elf, then turned back to her former student. "I know you're probably disappointed."

"Disappointed? Why should I be disappointed?" Hermione's tone was ever so slightly angry.

"I have reasons for not making you Head Girl. And I think you should completely enjoy this year."

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked – testily this time.

Minerva shook herself inwardly. Going exactly as suspected. Pity that neither Severus nor Hermione knew how predictable they really were. "I think you shouldn't have any duties this school year – except to get good grades, decide what you want to do with your life. The last..."

"This is a joke, isn't it?" Hermione interrupted.

Minerva shook her head. "Of course it isn't. I'm not in the mood for joking. We've all been through a lot the last year and..."

Hermione was glad the tea arrived and after she added some milk, she gulped it down, all the time staring incredulously at the headmistress. "Because I went with Harry, I can't be Head Girl? There were others..."

"Others were not tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange," Minerva interrupted.

"And that's why?" Hermione hissed.

"You have tremors, do you not?" Minerva asked.

"What? No. What tremors?" Hermione tried to lie smoothly – she really did. And as almost always, she failed. But she had done her best. At least she would have that.

"The tremors from the Cruciatus. It's a known after-effect of it. And you were under it heavily for a long time. You could ask Severus. I'm sure he knows what I'm talking about. Even though he's as stubborn as you are and would never admit to having such a thing."

"I have no tremors. I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione muttered, and looked at her feet. "And even if it were the case, it would be my business."

Minerva looked at her questioningly. "What happened to the girl that came to me and asked for a possibility to have more time for more classes? The girl who cried in my former office because she was so overwhelmed by how much she had to do?"

Hermione shrugged and tried to maintain a cold outside. Not that simple. "It was..."

"You've grown up last year. You had to. All of you had to. And it was too soon. All of it was too soon. Mister Potter and especially Mister Weasley might be able to deal with it better – they have outlets, they have quidditch, they have flying, Mister Weasley has you, Mister Potter has Miss Weasley. They, unlike you, try _and _succeed, not to think about it too much. You on the other hand, Hermione, I do talk with Madame Pomfrey occasionally, and the apothecary in Diagon Alley is a friend of mine. Dreamless Sleep, you should know that, is highly addictive and if taken for longer than six weeks, it could mean your death."

Hermione blanched. Of course she had known about that. Of course she had known about everything that the Headmistress had just told her. Everything. But she didn't want to deal with those things yet. It was only a few months since the defeat of Voldemort – some parts of the school were still in shambles. Most of the houses in Hogsmeade looked like right after the Blitz.

And yes, Dreamless Sleep was addictive. She had known that, too. But she wasn't taking it every night. Not literally. Only when she needed it. And well, she was back at school, back in a dormitory, back sleeping with other people in the same room – that was bound to make her feel uneasy.

"No more for you," Minerva McGonagall continued, seeing that the poor girl was battling with herself and her emotions, "you need this time here now to just adjust to normal life again. And normal life has nothing to do with chasing Dark Wizards and being tortured by crazy witches. It is not real life what you've experienced even though you might want to believe it. But take it from an old woman – it is not."

Hermione bit her lower lip so hard she drew blood and carefully let her tongue run over it – tasting the metallic taste of it. She took a deep breath and stood up, eyeing the Headmistress suspiciously. "Thank you, Headmistress," she said softly and, without further ado, ran from the office.

"Brilliant, Minerva. That couldn't have gone better," she said to herself and leaned back in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Cani?" she called, "bring me some more Ginger Newts and some Single-Malt Firewhiskey, please."

xx

Severus threw another log in the fire. It was not exactly cold yet in the dungeons – chilly, yes, cold, no – but he enjoyed seeing the flames lick their way through the wood, turning them into ashes. Cold, grey ashes. And well, he could have levitated the log in, could have told an house elf to do it but why should he? It was a release of sorts to throw it in – less than gently. There were sparks flying up and out of the fireplace and he didn't mind. It was all part of life, that.

A tree, alive and well and beautiful and green is cut down and turned into nothing more than ashes.

"Yes, yes, wonderful. Philosophical Snape," he said to himself and slumped into a large, burgundy, quite worn armchair. The only thing he had taken with him from Spinner's End. He slowly unbuttoned his heavy coat and, with difficulty, shrugged it off, let it fall in a heap on the floor, closing his eyes.

It usually felt a relief to get out of it – to open the buttons on the collar of his shirt, let his neck breathe – let a bit of air to the heavily puckered, angrily red skin. And today, today it was no different.

Damn Minerva.

Two options, apparently. For him at least.

Get a grip and stop behaving like a anti-social recluse with ill manners.

Get some help.

She had not told him what the consequences would be should he choose neither option but honestly, he did not need help. What for anyhow? He was alive. Almost healthy (apart from, well, the obvious, but since they had not talked about that and she had not mentioned it – it was non-existent for the moment in conversations with her), back where he had spent most of his life. That was good, was it not?

"Who are you kidding?" he asked himself again and bent down with a grimace to untie his shoelaces. His rooms were heavily warded, he would skip dinner, he had no assignments to correct yet (how could he? The usual summer-essays he assigned – there was no way he could have done that), no detentions to oversee (not that he had not given out any – two, to be precise – but good old reliable Argus Filch had needed help with the cleaning of one of those newly rebuilt corridors). Nothing that required him to leave his rooms.

And he would not. Definitely not.

Toeing his shoes off, he took his wand from its usual place in his sleeve (the war had told him a thing or two) and pointed it at an oak cupboard. He did not speak – but the bottle of Firewhiskey came flying towards him, as well as a glass.

He breathed deeply and poured a bit of the stinging, lovely liquid into the glass, eyeing it almost tenderly.

No – he wasn't that far gone. He knew his use of alcohol was wrong. He knew it.

Biting his lip, he stared at the half-full (half-empty?) glass and on a whim, he threw it into the flames. The effect was immediate – and beautiful.

The flames were rising higher and broader, sudden heat enveloped him and he allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up ever so slightly.

'Lovely,' he thought, 'better use of that anyway.'

Severus Snape sent the bottle flying back to the cupboard and got up heavily. In socks only, socks, a shirt, and a pair of black trousers.

'Might as well work,' he thought and took a stack of books from the shelf and heaved them onto a small table next to the burgundy armchair. He summoned a quill (being a person who preferred notes in the margins of a book) and once again, began the daunting task of trying to find a cure for those tremors.

xx

"What did she want, 'Mione?" Ginny asked as soon as she returned to the Gryffindor common room. Which wasn't straight after she had left the headmistress. On the contrary – she had gone down to the Lake, had sat for a while, Disillusioned of course, and had thought about what the older woman had said.

Yes, it was true. Too many times she tried to keep the nightmares at bay with the aid of that particular potion. And those thoughts, the one that she kept away during the night, came haunting her during the day. It had been alright during the holidays, during the summer. There had been a bit of nice weather, and she had enjoyed lying in the sun at the Burrow with Ron, or watching him play quidditch. She had enjoyed going to Australia, though she had really wanted to find her parents, and she had enjoyed helping Harry with the house. That had kept her mind off things as well.

But now – here – there was nothing. Just studies, just books – not even duties as a Head Girl or Prefect. That wasn't right. Didn't the headmistress know that she needed to keep busy? That memories came rushing past her, into her head, past her eyes, in her mouth? That the smell and taste and feel of blood was sometimes everywhere? That she could not forget the pain she had been in? That the tremors were a reminder of that?

Didn't the Headmistress understand that she, Hermione Granger, needed to be busy? And that only her classes didn't provide enough diversion?

Apparently not.

"Just a chat," Hermione lied and it was easy. Easier than before. "Explain why Emma Richards is Head Girl and not me."

Ginny raised her eyebrows considerably. "Did you expect to be Head Girl? But you're not even in our year."

"I am now," Hermione replied tired and cracked a little – fake – smile. "Look, I'm not hungry. I think I'll just go upstairs and read for a bit."

"You sure?"

Hermione nodded and decided to leave quickly. There were things she had to think about. And a decent night's sleep without the damn potion. "Night Ginny," she merely threw over her shoulder and did not see the younger girl grimacing and shrugging.

xx

Minerva had – luck for her – stayed away. Or maybe she had tried to come in but his wards were quite good and safe and the silencing charm on the door hard apparently worked wonders. Seriously, his night couldn't have gone better. It would do without the potion tonight, he decided and tiredly scrambled into bed. He would stand those nightmares for one night – and maybe he was lucky for once. For once.

He had always found sleeping in usual wizard's attire uncomfortable – which self-respecting male slept in nightshirts anyway? He certainly did not. No, he preferred the muggle method. A simple black t-shirt and boxers. He had slept that way since before he had become a teacher, he had slept that way while he was a Death Eater, while he was a spy – he certainly would not change that now.

The book he was reading (_Common Household Potions in the 15__th__ century_) grew heavy in his hand and his eyes weary.

"Nox," he said softly after putting it away and, rolling on his right side, he righted his pillow and was asleep within mere minutes.

xx

_Woods – of course woods. But why is it so damn dark? And why are there noises? Why does it sound like someone's breathing right behind me? Out – out – out. Find a way out. I need to apparate. Wand. Wand. Where is my wand? _

_There it is. There are footsteps, aren't there? Right behind me. _

_I have to turn. Fight or flight is no longer an option. I cannot apparate. I don't remember how. _

_Wasn't I wearing shoes when I left? Of course I was wearing shoes. Where are my shoes? Ground's cold. And wet. And disgusting. I bet there are small disgusting creatures running around. Is that one?_

_A bug. I hate bugs. Disgusting animals with those huge eyes and that shiny black..._

_More footsteps. Slowly, Granger, slowly. Keep your wand up and fight. _

_I need to breath. Must not forget to breathe. If only my heart wasn't beating so fast and if only I could see decently in this darkness. Fight, Granger. _

"_Expelliarmus!" I hear myself shout and nothing happens – apart from someone laughing at me. _

_I know that voice. It's his voice. Snape's voice. But I have never heard him laugh, have I? He's speaking. Speaking in Snape's voice. _

"_Give up, silly girl. You will never get out of here. This is where you belong, this is what you do best. Give me your wand and I will not be forced to throw you off the Astronomy Tower. Give me your wand and you will not have to go to Malfoy Manor. Just do it."_

_I shake my head. "Stupefy!"_

"_Come on, silly girl. Be a good girl and nothing will happen to you." _

_I hear him advancing. I hear it. His footsteps – louder than usual – usually he doesn't make any noise, apart from his silly robes when he moves, does he? - are right behind me and I don't know where to go. The trees are closing in on me. They're moving, they're moving, they're moving. I'm caught. _

"_Stupefy!" I shout again – and nothing. My wand is nothing more than a bit of wood. A twig. It feels like old wood, crumbling in my hand. _

"_It's over, Hermione," he whispers softly behind me. _

"_NO!"_

xx

Hermione was bathed in cold sweat and her heart was beating rapidly. That was what happened when one didn't take the bloody potion. Sleep was now something she did not even want to attempt doing. She heaved her trembling (after-effect? Nightmare?) out of bed and pulled her school robes over her head. Two in the morning. Nobody would be out patrolling at this hour. And she always knew how to Disillusion herself.

xx

_Why is it always that I end up in some cold, airy, open room? Always. Whenever they capture me, they put me in there. Of course they don't know that I hate the cold. That the layers and layers of clothing are nothing more than an effort to keep the damp and cold from my bones. _

_I kneel – nobody told me to do so but I do it. It's better this way anyway. Show obedience and they will probably be quick about it. _

_I wonder whether I should start praying or not. He will be here any moment and then it's over anyway. Poor Severus, he will say, chosen the wrong side after all. All because of the ideal of a woman whom he thought he loved. _

_But it's not true. Not true. True is, and I want to tell him, yell at him as he enters this cold, airy, open, wide room, no furniture, nothing but a throne, or throne-like chair in the middle, that I loved Lily when I was younger and that she was only the means that kept me going after I realized that I can never have her. That I clung to her and her memory longer than necessary – for myself and for her. Poor Lily, I want to say, she sacrificed herself for her son and didn't know that she would become an icon to a poor sod who was only trying to protect said son. _

_No, I want to yell at him, I did not do all of that because of Lily but because it was the right thing to do. Because I did not want to serve an megalomanic, crazy half-blood who pretended to be better than everyone else. _

_Because I wanted to do the right thing. _

_But I can't say all that, can I?_

_It's getting colder the nearer he comes to me and the hard, cold, stone floor hurts my knees. I must have been kneeling a while, I think. Usually it doesn't hurt that much. _

"_Severus," he says in that barely-human voice, "how disappointing."_

_I try to speak but my mouth is glued shut, I think. At least that is what it feels like. I can't breathe through my mouth and I can't open my lips. I want to explain – but it would not make any sense now anyway, would it?_

"_Lucius, do it," he orders coldly and I know that I am not even worth that he kills me. No – he will not get dirt on his hands by killing me. He will let the blonde do it. And he will be slow. Horribly slow. _

_The first slash earns him a polite applause from the others around. There are Bellatrix, Fenrir, two Lestranges, two Carrows, Crabbe, Goyle, MacNair, Black. _

_I writhe in agony as his wand slashes my chest open with my spell. My spell. My spell. _

xx

He woke – the sheets tangled around his body, cutting his air off, his hand clawing at his chest.

'Breathe,' he thinks and tries to slowly inhale and exhale. Difficult.

The ceiling was too low in those dungeons, the air too clammy, too cold, despite the fire.

Severus Snape quickly got dressed and decided that a few rounds at two at night never did any harm.

_**xx**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Hermione Granger simply walked through the corridors. She wasn't sure where she wanted to go, or if she wanted to get somewhere. She simply walked and walked and walked. The destination was not important at all anyway. It was the walking that kept her mind off things – and the fact that she felt utterly safe in Hogwarts – despite everything.

The corridors, dark and silent, were as familiar as the home she had spent the first eleven years of her life. With her parents. Who were now somewhere in Australia – or maybe dead. Who knew these days? So many people were dead, so many injured – and even more trying to live a normal life and failing.

Like herself. Not that she had tried very hard yet. And school here wasn't the right place to attempt a normal life, was it?

But, stumbling almost over her own feet somewhere in the dark (because she certainly did not want to wake the portraits), the Headmistress was probably right. Her words, if nothing else, had left an impression. Not that she would admit it (to anyone) but yes, the use of Dreamless Sleep was dangerous and she knew that probably she was on the verge of needing it nightly – every single night – and that would end, sooner or later, fatal.

So, no more Dreamless Sleep.

But – with the spare time she had now – only studying, no duties – she swore to herself that she would find a way – a safer way to keep the dreams at bay, and maybe find a way, to cure the after-shocks of the Cruciatus – or maybe just something to relieve it. Something.

Suddenly, she felt very tired and was smiling crookedly to herself when she realized that she had reached the corridor that led directly to one of the smaller, inner courtyards she had discovered sometime in her third year. She could easily sit down there – look up at the sky, probably. Not sleeping there – oh no – but maybe grow so tired that she would have to stumble back to her dorm and would fall asleep immediately (a dream – of course – she would most likely not go back to sleep after all, or maybe nap in the courtyard but she didn't want to think about it).

She dragged herself outside, and thanks to the warm weather during the day (even though she wasn't grateful – her bones still ached and her hands trembled ever so slightly), the grass was soft and dry. It was nevertheless rather chilly and she wrapped her robes closer around herself. She sighed softly and settled down on the grass on her back, her arms behind her head, staring up.

It was odd, really. When she had been a child, looking at stars and the night sky had something mythical, something wonderful (as in the sense of full of wonder), something magical.

Now, there were constellations and moons and planets and sometimes, she truly wished for her childhood back – the simplicity of everything. Well, not everything – she had been a witch after all and had done things, let things happen that weren't supposed to. But that was all in the past.

Everything right now seemed in the past and Hermione tried hard to get the old feelings back while she gazed up at the stars – she tried hard not to draw lines between them in her head, not to name them. Just to see the wonder. Full stop.

She breathed deeply. Even the air around Hogwarts smelled differently, felt differently in her lungs – she did feel safe, even alone, in the night, in the courtyard. Still – she wasn't taking any chances and had her wand loosely between her fingers, underneath her head.

New moon as well – barely light – just the dark, dark sky, and the dark, smelling grass and herself and she felt, for the first time in a while – like herself.

xx

It was a relief to walk through those familiar halls once more in silence, with no other company than himself, no one to fear when he looked after and out for the students, trying to find them before one of the Carrows did.

Yes, he was relieved that this farce of him being the headmaster was over – and was even more relieved that this nightmare with the Dark Lord was over for good as well.

He had had enough responsibility in the last decade, well, almost two decades, and he was glad (as much as he could be glad, though he doubted that he was even able to feel such a deep emotion) that he finally had nobody to look after except himself.

Brutally honest – if he was that (and he doubted he would very often in the next few months – or years – be that way) – he knew that it would be difficult enough just to take care of himself.

Just.

He hadn't done that since 1979. Or something around that time. Maybe a bit earlier – who knew exactly? Coming to think of it – he had never been good at taking care of himself. He had always forgotten to eat during school – had always rather suffered in silence when yet another hex had hit him in school than go to the Infirmary and let someone look at it. He had always worked it out somehow. But now?

He wasn't sure – no – he didn't know. Ploughing on, probably.

No, those nights - he didn't doubt that he would have a lot of them in the future when he really decided to let go of the Dreamless Sleep Potion. Brutally honest (again), he had to. There was no way around it if he didn't want to end up in a coma or dead. And it had been hard enough escaping death the last time. That snake had not gotten him – so the potions wouldn't either. Maybe, he was a Potions Master after all, he could develop a a remedy for his dreams, something that would keep them at bay, without the side-effects. It would be nice. And it would probably bring him a batch of money – which, after all, he needed. His vault was frightfully empty. Why – he didn't know.

He crept along the corridors without having his wand illuminated. The portraits would be annoyed being woken in the middle of the night and a talking down to was the last thing he needed right now. And besides, he knew exactly where he was.

Just a bit away from the old courtyard just above the Transfiguration classroom. It was nice there – especially in late summer such as now. The last rosebushes were in bloom (needed for various Healing Draughts), there was a Limboda Tree out there, the leaves needed for Calming and a variety of Sleeping Potions. And the best part – one had a plain view of the sky from there. Nothing to obscure it.

This was where he had found the smallest amount of peace during his days as headmaster. Because you only found it if you needed it. Peace, that is. Oddly enough, no other students had ever found it in the last year – but then again, they had all turned to the Room of Requirement.

He stalked the last few yards – and felt that he was not alone.

xx

The stars, once one looked at them without any knowledge (or rather pushing the knowledge aside) were truly beautiful. She couldn't think of another word. Beautiful. It all felt so – surreal. So serene when she knew that half her world still lay in shambles – still was broken and was still not what she had come to know when she had been a mere girl. She needed a clear head when she wanted a part of rebuilding it – and that she wanted.

A clear head – not drugs. No Dreamless Sleep but rather strong determination. She could do it. She would write Ron and Harry in the morning. That always helped. And she would ask Ron to come see her on the weekend – because she truly missed him and she needed him close. His presence, his arms around her. She truly needed that. And if she had it – she would recover easier.

A plan – this was a plan – and that was all she needed.

She sighed and stretched on the fragrant grass. There was the faintest smell of roses close by and she wondered if there were still some blooming. She would have to go and see during the daytime.

Hermione Granger closed her eyes for only a second. Only one second.

xx

He sensed someone before he saw even saw a person. But there was then the outline of a person and his wand was trained on that someone. He knew there couldn't be any enemies around – the wards Minerva had drawn up together with Flitwick and some other teachers were stronger than they had ever been before. How she had done that, he wasn't sure but only students and teachers were accepted inside. And only if you were approved by the headmistress.

Rather brilliant spellwork he had thought.

So, it was a student out of bed. In his courtyard. At almost three in the morning.

He stepped closer to see who it was – and at first, noticed only the tremors shaking the small hands in the grass, the right one holding on to a wand. And then the hair – and that was the give-away.

"Miss Granger," he drawled and saw with interest, how she jumped up and pointed her own wand at him, the shivering growing stronger. "Out of bed? After curfew? You think just because you're older than the rest of your classmates, you can make your own set of rules? Sadly, you're mistaken."

She looked up at him, defiance and something else he couldn't pinpoint in her eyes. Then, his eyes turned to her hands again. They were worse than his own – but he was used to it by now.

He had heard conversations – or rather, Minerva had told him – about the fact that she had been tortured by Crazy Bella. For hours or something close to it anyway. No wonder she was trembling now – the weather change had been nasty. 12° Celsius two days before, and the temperature had risen almost 15 degrees. Nasty. Nasty.

"Profe...," she began.

"Miss Granger, five points off Gryffindor and if you don't go to your dormitory right now, I'll double that," he continued threateningly.

She simply nodded, lit her wand and was almost out of the courtyard when she heard him speak again.

"The forecast said it will be nice and hot for the next week or so. You should be fine."

She looked at him – stumped, then nodded again solemnly and almost ran away.

Severus Snape looked after her for a moment before he took the place she had just vacated, laying down on the grass, staring up at the sky.

No wonder she was in dire need of some peace as well if she had the tremors that badly.

_**xx**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

She rubbed her hand repeatedly across her forehead and over her eyes. She was glad she wore no make-up – but with those gritty eyes, she knew it wouldn't have been a good idea in any case.

No, she hadn't really slept in the last three or four days – every night sleeping for an hour or so, maybe two, maybe three if she was lucky until the nightmares would come – and, for fear of Snape and the fact that she didn't want to lose points, and time by detention (she was using all that she had right now for her research – no results yet), she had stayed in her dorm, having to listen endlessly to the quite manly snores of Ginny and the squeaking and talking during sleep of the other girls.

But – she decided now, listening to Binns droning on – she would not be kept from the courtyard that night if she couldn't sleep again. Rather losing points and getting detention than tossing and turning for hours on end in her bed, not knowing what to think about. It was, at the moment, a small price to pay for a little peace.

She pretended to look in her books, when in fact she had a letter from Ron tucked inside and was reading it for about the tenth time since it had arrived during breakfast.

_Dear Hermione,_

_guess what? Chuck Snidgings owled me last week. I didn't tell you before because I didn't want you to get your hopes up but yesterday, I had it confirmed and I already signed the contract! I don't have to tell you what that means._

'Yes,' thought Hermione, 'you have to tell me what that means because I have never heard of Chuck Snidgins and a contract.'

It irritated her that he had made a decision without informing her. And what irritated her more was:

_So I cannot possibly come to Hogsmeade on the weekend. I'm sorry you went through all the trouble of asking old McGonagall but maybe you can still go and look how far they've managed to rebuilt it. I'm sorry!_

_Love you,_

_Ron_

She closed her aching eyes for a moment and for a longer moment, was without an idea what to do. Would she ask directly – Ron – that she didn't know the person he was writing about? Or do some research?

She decided on the easier approach and ripped a bit from the parchment in front of him. It didn't matter that it was still the middle of the History of Magic class – she had Potions next and she needed her wits about her for that. She scribbled on the parchment, passed it to Ginny next to her and considered – briefly – a potion to get her a bit more awake. Then, just as quickly, discarded the idea. No potions for a while. She had to stay away – she knew that instinctively.

Ginny eyed her with disapproval a minute later, nudged her and pushed the piece of parchment back to her.

_Manager of the Kenmare Kestrels._

Hermione frowned. Quidditch? He had signed a contract for quidditch? For an Irish team?

She turned her head a bit and looked Ginny in the eye. She cast a non-verbal Muffliato spell and scooted a bit closer on her chair.

"Ron signed a contract with a quidditch team?" she asked, disbelief written all over her face.

Ginny frowned. "Didn't you know? The Appleby Arrows and the Kenmare Kestrels both wanted him. I thought he told you."

She shook her head slowly. "Only sort of, I guess," she answered, "he said he wanted to play but not that he was close to signing a contract or joining."

"Well he did," Ginny replied non-chalantly, "and me for that matter, I'm glad he did. Suits him better than the boring Auror stuff."

"Boring Auror stuff?" Hermione asked, shaking her head. "But Harry..."

"Harry will not be an Auror for long, 'ermione," Ginny shrugged arrogantly, "He's bound to get a high enough position in the Ministry not to do actual field work," she snorted the last words. "He's too good for that."

Hermione nodded – wondering whether she had the wrong grasp of her best friend – or whether the redhead next to her had.

xx

"Miss Granger, this potion is absolutely, astonishingly," he paused for effect and glared down at the student, "inadequate."

Hermione tried to glare back – but her gritty, aching eyes sort of did not allow that. She simply nodded tiredly and before he had a chance, she vanished the gooey mess that was in her cauldron.

Really, she didn't need much. She needed four, maybe five hours of sleep and a boyfriend who didn't just decide to play for a quidditch team without even telling her. What kind of a relationship was that anyway?

She breathed deeply and looked at her cauldron again when a shooting, piercing pain shot through her spine. Hermione tried hard not to wince – or scream – in pain. And failed. It was only a minor wince – a muffled sound – an animal sound.

And of course Snape was still standing directly in front of her working table and looked at her. And noticed it.

He looked down at her inquisitively, an eyebrow raised curiously – she tried to manage the pain but to no avail.

Damn weather. Damn stress. Damn Ron for not talking to her beforehand. Damn all those things for triggering another pain-attack. She would be alright, she knew from experience, within the next ten minutes – but spending ten minutes under the direct scrutiny of Snape – who would know exactly what was wrong with her?

No – definitely no.

"Excuse me," she muttered and ran out of the potions classroom as fast as she could – not fast.

"Ten points from...," was all she heard as she leant against the cold dungeons walls and slid down to the floor. Only a moment. She would get up to her dorm in a minute but she had seen the fat, grey clouds rolling closer all day long – and she knew that it wouldn't be long until the weather changed like that. Plus, the pain in her spine, her legs, her hands were proof enough as it was. Combine that with the insomnia and you had a very mad Hermione Granger.

Mad?

Probably maddest at herself.

xx

The weather changed again, he knew. First the tingling down his spine, then the cramps in his legs and hands, then the piercing pain in his back. Normal. He had experienced it for a long enough time – and even though some of his new formulas looked promising, he still would have to do the actual brewing. And for that, he needed peace of mind – and a little sleep.

Since he had gone off the Dreamless Sleep, he hadn't been able to catch more than two hours a night (and the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and occasionally the Slytherins suffered from that as well). He hadn't gone to the courtyard after the night he had met Granger there.

Why should he have? He had read, he had done a bit of Arithmancy, a bit of testing, writing. He had been too busy – and for that, the sleeplessness was alright. For concentrating on those things, it wasn't.

He needed a bit peace of mind. Only a bit and he would be able to plough on – find a cure for the after-shocks and after that, he could deal with the nightmares.

_**xx**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Watching the clouds roll over the stars, the waxing moon, had something soothing – or maybe lying there on the grass, half underneath a rosebush had. Hermione had taken her robes off and had rolled them together, using them now as a pillow. It wasn't cold yet – despite the late hour (was it twelve? Or maybe one? Later than that?) and the thunderstorms that seemed to be threatening all day long still had not happened, leaving the air heavy and humid and let the scent of the roses drift slowly over her.

Truth be told, she had never experienced such high temperatures at Hogwarts, such humidity there before – it was very unlike Scotland. Parts of her longed for a good, long thunderstorm, strong with lightning and huge drops of rain. As a girl (and sometimes, she classified all her life before she had went to hunt for Horcruxes with Harry as her childhood), she had loved running around in those storms, barefoot, jumping into every puddle on the way, feeling every single drop of warm rain like a gentle caress or a fiercer prod against her skin when she had worn nothing but shorts and tank tops.

She longed, really longed to do that again.

And yet, unfortunately, she did know that those sorts of thunderstorms would only happen when it had been hot during the day – and that counted (at least her nerves and bones and muscles thought so) as a weather change. Running in a thunderstorm without being in pain was not possible.

Even now it hurt slightly but because the grass was soft, the heavily scented roses calming her senses and the clouds distracting her mind, it was bearable, tolerable. Almost. Besides, she could always curl herself together, and wince – or cry – if she felt the need to do so. Nobody would disturb her here.

She rolled on her side, her wand on the ground next to her, shedding some faint light. Hermione decided to move more fully under the rosebush – it seemed nice there and, in case it started to rain, the branches full of dark green sheltering leaves. It was a white rose – she could see that in the dark and in the faint light of the moon and her wand, the blooms almost glowed in the dark – and the smell was simply divine.

And she felt so utterly peaceful, almost relaxed – there, under the rosebush – until she noticed something wet on her cheek. Propping herself up on one elbow, she lifted her other hand and waited for another raindrop to fall – nothing. She closed her eyes and realized, with a shake of the head, that it was not a raindrop – but a single tear.

Where had that come from? She wasn't sad at the moment, not in despair. And still – one tear had found its way down her cheek.

The Gryffindor lay back down on her robes-pillow and pulled her legs tightly to her body, closing her eyes. She had written two versions of a letter to Ron – and had sent none. The first one made more sense – no, it had made more sense when she had written it. An angry letter, telling him off for not telling her. Basically, an almost dear-John-letter. And she had crumbled the letter and had lit it in the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room. After that, she had crumbled herself – in her bed and had wondered, in silence (because nobody was around and because it had been about one of her best friends and the other best friend she had was far away and because she didn't trust Ginny to talk about this, because Ginny didn't understand), why he had made that decision without her.

She wouldn't have said anything – well, not much – but she would have liked to be consulted at least. Or informed in more detail.

So the second bloody letter was less angry – and more hurt. And when she had had calmed down, and had reread it, she had ripped it into many little pieces. And hadn't sent that one either.

What was one supposed to write under such circumstances anyway?

Usually, she would argue with him, then, nicely, make up again. But that was, unfortunately, only possible when they were eye to eye. Not with letters and owls and the occasional floo-call. Just not possible.

Her eyes drifted shut tiredly and she hugged herself around the middle closely.

Had she made a mistake in coming back to school?

xx

The snarky Potions Master was in pain – and the potion he had taken only took the edge off. It was bearable but it certainly didn't put him in a good mood. Besides, he couldn't sleep and that made him grumpy. Not that he would ever describe himself as being grumpy – or in pain for that matter – but it was exactly what he was.

He tried to stretch – and then decided that it wasn't a good idea at all. His back was painful and well, he needed a bit of relaxation desperately. Otherwise, he would enter one of those vicious circles.

Not having enough sleep would lead to a worse mood than usual, that would lead to him not having the nerves to stand those abysmal students, that would led indubitably to detentions that would be his to oversee, that would lead to more nerve-wrecking and that to more sleepless nights and so on and so on.

He left his quarters quickly and wished that he could simply apparate to the small courtyard with the smelling roses and the Tree and that he could simply take a cot there, or maybe a sleeping bag (oh, he remembered those muggle contraptions just fine – for good reason) and camp out there.

'What a silly thought,' he sneered at himself inside his head but it was appealing to just fall asleep there – maybe a tent-like thing over his head, see-through though as he loved watching those stars and the waxing moon (it was so much more encouraging than a waning one).

"Ridiculous," he muttered and strode quickly towards the courtyard, not even thinking about the fact that someone else might be there.

And yet, one look and he knew there was – there, just there, underneath the white, massive rosebush. A non-magical rose – Polar Star, Pomona had explained when he had asked his second or third year of teaching. Seemed fitting enough.

In that light – and he could see the light of a weak Lumos underneath it – the rose-petals glowed in the dark.

He moved a little closer and was not completely surprised to see that it was indeed Miss Granger lying there – apparently sleeping. In only a tight, black t-shirt and the skirt of her uniform. It wasn't cold yet, not very, but sleeping in only that, with no blanket or anything couldn't be good for her health.

He rolled his eyes at himself as he lifted his wand and spoke a very soft accio. Only seconds later, a blanket zoomed through the air and into his outstretched hand. Why he was doing it, he wasn't sure. But a flu-y Hermione Granger would be even more disastrous in Potions than she had been that very morning, botching up her concoction spectacularly. He could relate – up to a point.

He got down on his knees (which hurt) and very quietly, he covered her with his blanket – the only one he had been able to think of – the blanket that usually had its place on his couch when the cold, despite a burning fire, seeped through his bones. Oh well, he would get it back – a simple accio would do the trick in the morning.

Severus Snape merely put the blanket over the girl and wondered what had compelled her to fall asleep. No, he didn't truly wonder.

'She's as insomniac as you are,' he thought to himself, 'that's why she fell asleep here.'

Just as he had wanted to do but didn't dare. Well, there was a difference between a traumatized seventh year falling asleep somewhere where she could find peace and a snarky, evil murderer who could find no other job than teaching dunderheads who sleeping in a courtyard. One was acceptable – the other wasn't.

He shrugged to himself and allowed himself a moment – a moment to watch the sky, moving slightly away from the sleeping form of the bushy-haired Gryffindor.

Definitely a thunderstorm soon. The way the stars and the moon were hidden behind obviously huge mounts of clouds and the crackle of something, electricity, probably in the air. There was suddenly a gust of wind, tugging at his robes and blew his hair in his eyes.

He looked over at the girl. She was snuggled underneath the blanket and had wrapped it tighter around herself, covering almost her entire body, leaving only the head from the nose upwards free.

A bolt of lightning illuminated the air and he was torn for a moment what to do. Let her sleep – sleep she needed desperately – or wake her (without actually letting her know what had woken her) – or...nothing. He could just go and forget about her. She was none of his concern.

But – he felt a kind of solidarity with her, suffering the same as him. And Bella's Cruciatus were worst from what he had experienced. Not that she had ever cast it on him (he was too quick for that) but there had been sick competitions between her and three or four other Death Eaters (MacNair, Crabbe and Carrow) who could make people go insane first. Bella had always won.

He shook himself, putting the memories back to where they belonged – far, far away and looked at the young woman instead.

"Oh well," he muttered and pointed her wand at her, levitating her carefully – without waking her. She would sleep just as well somewhere inside. On a cot or something. Or a sleeping bag.

He smirked. Nobody would suspect him of conjuring up a sleeping bag and putting Granger in.

xx

"Miss Granger!" Minerva McGonagall shook the girl's shoulder and was met by bleary eyes and a wince.

"What? Where...," she asked – confused. She was somewhere inside. In a...sleeping bag?

"Do you make it a habit of sleeping in a draughty corridor?" the headmistress asked, one eyebrow raised.

Hermione swallowed and sat up, rubbing her eyes, "I don't...I don't know how I got here."

The older woman sighed. "It's almost seven. I suggest you get up and change and go to breakfast."

Hermione looked at her and knew that her legs were bad this morning. Getting up would be difficult. "Is it raining?"

"Has been storming almost all night long," the headmistress lent her a hand and helped her up. Hermione was glad that there was a wall right behind her she could lean against.

"Alright," Hermione nodded. "Thanks for waking me."

Minerva nodded again – curiously – it was odd finding her sleeping there. And very odd that she was in a sleeping bag, wrapped in a dark blanket. "I'll see you at breakfast," she merely said and disappeared with long strides. The heaviness with which Hermione leant against the wall worried her and she had to ask Severus if he had any draught against those weak and trembling limbs. Or anything at all to help the poor girl.

xx

"Did you find any?" Luna suddenly came skipping along the corridor and talked to Hermione in her sing-sang voice.

"Did I find what?" Hermione asked, slowly getting the use of her legs under control.

"Solsiminies, of course."

"Sols...what?"

"Solsiminies," Luna repeated as if it was the most natural thing in the world and in one single skip, she was next to Hermione. "Here," she said softly, "it might be easier to walk when you hold my arm."

"Luna..." Hermione asked puzzled but the blonde simply shrugged and with a elegant flick of her wand, the sleeping bag was rolled together and in her hand while the other steadied Hermione's elbow and helped her walk slowly.

"You know, you should rub those legs with essence of toad. It helped me and Ollivander while we were in the Manor," she said artlessly. "But then again, Draco's curse wasn't that bad. He didn't really mean it and nothing works if you don't mean it."

Hermione looked at the younger girl and frowned, wondering where exactly she stood with Luna Lovegood.

_**xx**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**A/N: You should read this one carefully – there is a lot of info in parenthesis...**_

_**xx**_

She had honestly tried to sleep peacefully in her own bed, even under the blanket and in the sleeping bag that had mysteriously appeared around her the first night she had slept so well in the courtyard. Secretly, she thanked the house elves for both items (especially since one morning, right after she had tried to use them in her bed, they had vanished and only appeared again the next morning when she woke, for the first time, in the courtyard).

But sleep had failed her in her own bed. She had no trouble falling asleep at first, but the pattern then would be always the same – waking up from a nightmare and unable to fall back to sleep.

So, every night, she took off to the courtyard and got comfortable under the rose bush. She would sleep without nightmares and so, got slowly her equilibrium back.

The odd thing was that most nights, even when she cast charms on herself, when it was raining, she awoke in the corridor just off the courtyard, being completely dry (which she could only barely have achieved being outside even under warming and water-repellent charm), wrapped in the same blanket and the sleeping bag.

The house elves were great, apparently, and could bring her inside without waking her.

The only trouble was that, some mornings, she was met by Filch. And that was never nice. Especially when he woke her by pushing a mop or something equally wet and disgusting around her and once, in her face (the hex that he suffered from afterwards was pure accident. She had been rudely woken and he deserved a few spots on his nose). If she knew what it was that made her feel that way in the courtyard, she would do her best to recapture exactly that (hell, she had even, with permission of Madam Sprout, cut of a few of those roses) but unfortunately, nothing worked and she only slept peacefully once she had fallen asleep in the courtyard.

She shrugged to herself, took Ron's new letter with her, and once more, as quietly as she could, rushed through the corridors. Sometimes, like tonight, she wondered why Snape wasn't there any more (because – frankly – he had looked as if he knew that she would return eventually and that that would be the best opportunity for him to take a massive amount of points) but she was sure she always was alone (apart from the house elf, probably loyal Winky) there. She was certain, she would hear – or sense – if there was someone else.

Once more, she shrugged and was for once glad that she had thought of taking another robe and her jacket with her. The blanket and sleeping bag she usually preferred had, once again, disappeared.

She did her usual routine there, star-gazing until she felt so tired that she merely had to roll on her side and was asleep immediately underneath the Polar Star (Professor Sprout had informed her that that was the name of the rose) but for once, she wasn't as comfortably warm as she usually had been in the last couple of weeks (3, to be precise since she had first slept there – she had turned 19 in the meantime with only a meagre card and a very uninspired present (Hogwarts – A History – pity she had the edition already) from Ron and a more interesting card and nice present from Harry (a bracelet – a bracelet from her best friend, a book from her boyfriend...), still had not found her parents and her physical condition had improved a lot and had spent a lot of time with Luna and not so much with Ginny. Luna had, quite quickly, turned into her best friend here at Hogwarts, just by being there and giving her the advice with the essence of toad – it did take the edge off the pain and the cramps and the tremors though it didn't heal all that), and she didn't feel as tired as she should be and pulled Ron's letter from the pocket of her jacket and lit her wand just enough to being able to read it.

_Dear Hermione,_

_the team is amazing! We just had the first game last week and I'm sure you've read the results in the Daily Prophet._

[he didn't even know she wasn't reading that crap any more...]

_I even saved a penalty and we're now top of the league, but of course you know that. _

[yes, Ginny had told her – along with the news that she would be playing for the Holyhead Harpies after she finished Hogwarts – she would be playing already, but as Hermione understood, Molly had put her foot down on her finishing her education]

_Wouldn't it be amazing if we'd finish first as well? Imagine the parties in the summer when you're finally done with Hogwarts and the season's done. Can't you come to one of our games? I'd love for you to see me play. Even Harry managed to get away from London last weekend and see the game. He loved it!_

[she bet but she was still a student – and as such not allowed outside for such an amount of time during the school year.]

_You can't imagine the sort of girls that already surround our team!_

[nice, Ron, nice. Rub it in.]

_Anyway, I hope to see you soon – even though I can't get away at the moment. _

_Love you!_

_Ron_

Hermione sighed – as she had done the last few times she had read the letter. There wasn't even a single question about herself in it – but no, Ron wasn't the greatest letter-writer in the world and she could count herself lucky that he even wrote that much. And she had even gotten a _Love you_. That at least.

She curled on her side and composed a reply in her head.

But – she only got as far as _Dear Ron_ before sleep overtook her.

xx

Three weeks – every night except two and after those two, she had sported dark rings around her eyes in the mornings. He always knew – he usually saw her at night, and then, her potions were bad after those mornings and even Minerva – on those mornings – shot the girl a worried glance. And had once tried to talk to Severus about her.

Even though, at the time (and now), he wasn't sure why she had done exactly that.

On the other hand, he was sure that neither Hermione Granger, nor Minerva McGonagall knew that he saw her every night when she slept, covered her with a blanket, and, if it was necessary, put her in a sleeping bag and brought her inside. As a matter of fact, Hermione Granger thought (one morning she had been discovered by Filch she had disclosed the fact to the headmistress who had told him) that house elves made sure she was warm.

House elves – pah! No way that house elves were so considerate. They would probably wake you – or make such a noise that you woke up on your own. He knew that from experience. No house elf would get her that blanket and the sleeping bag. What a ridiculous thought.

But still better than thinking that it had been him. What would people make of him if they found out? No, he couldn't let that happen.

Still, as every night in the last three weeks, he found her in the courtyard and, as she shivered in her sleep (and seemed oddly uneasy), he summoned the blanket and the sleeping bag (which he had never transfigured back into the rose leaf) and covered her with it, kneeling in front of her.

"No, I don't wanna," she muttered in her sleep and he looked at her curiously. It was strangely curious for her to be having a nightmare here – she had never had one in the weeks he had watched her (and, granted, occasionally, had fallen asleep for an hour or two himself some days).

Severus Snape tucked the blanket a little tighter around her (it seemed the right thing to do) and observed her face – it wasn't the usual serene expression he had come to know – it was scrunched up, as if she was in pain, or annoyed, or angry, or scared. Or a blend of all of those.

"No, don't please," she spoke further and turned from her back to her side, her face towards him. He sat down on the cold grass a bit away from her but never took his eyes off her – she gestured as if she was trying to fight something off.

"No, Ron, am not interested in quidditch," she spoke further and he rose one eyebrow. "Quidditch is boring."

Severus had to disagree with her – to a point. Most games were too boring, too long and too little things that were happening – but once in a while, there was a gem, a game that you could re-watch and re-watch.

She sighed theatrically in her sleep (she had never done it before - not awake, not asleep - and he was ready to move away rapidly, or, the wand pointed at himself, disillusion himself in case she woke up too quickly) but she didn't seem to wake at all. Instead, she kept on talking and now, the dream made a little more sense.

He had heard (from the gossipy headmistress) that Ronald Weasley was now a professional keeper for that Irish team. And that he had given up Auror training for it. And Hermione Granger obviously strongly disliked quidditch.

"And I don't love you. I don't want to be with you. You can go sleep with all those groupies now," she said astonishingly clearly now and this caused him to raise both eyebrows. Interesting.

She didn't say anything else but he knew that she had just given him ammunition for the rest of the year. He was just moving closer to her in order to levitate her inside (it was cold – and she really should get used to sleeping inside anyway), when she suddenly moved in her sleep and he found himself kneeling in front of her, with her arms around his thighs and her legs nestled between his knees.

_**xx**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

She breathed deeply – knowing somewhere in her mind that she had just dreamt about breaking it off with Ron – what a ridiculous dream, she thought, taking another deep breath. It smelled odd. Not of roses.

Too tired to open her eyes, she sniffed first. Peppermint mostly, a bit of lavender, musk, and – was that coriander? Odd – she knew that smell from somewhere but she had never realized how nice it smelled, how perfect that blend was, how comforted she felt by it – and how good it matched to the scent of the roses. It was a mixture that would make her feel good any time, she knew. Though the blurriness of her sleepy, tired brain didn't allow her to make any clear connections – much less let her explain to herself what it was that made her feel safe with those smells around her.

Only then, did she notice that her arms were holding onto something and that her head lay at an odd angle. She blinked once – and all she saw was black. Concentrating on what she felt with her hands, she had difficulties placing the odd texture. Something woolly. But softer than that.

She blinked again and looked up – and couldn't help but squeal.

"Miss Granger, if you'd be so kind as to remove yourself from my person," a familiar voice, belonging to the blackness, the scent and the – oh God – woolly fabric, said stiffly.

xx

She was mortified. Good – just what he needed. A mortified, sleepy, grumpy Granger who stared up in his eyes, wide-doe-eyed. Like some animal caught in a Lumos. Or muggle headlights.

She quickly scrambled back, sat on her heels and hugged herself. "I'm sorry," she muttered, rocking herself back and forth gently. "I'm sorry, I didn't...I just and then I broke up with Ron and I usually am alone in here and I'm so sorry."

He raised a mocking eyebrow. "You could at least try to form complete sentences. This is not too much to ask, is it? On the other hand, I suggest you go back to your dormitory now and sleep there instead of here in the open. So I don't have to listen to your babbling and apologising all the time. And trust me, Miss Granger, those apologies won't work on me. 10 points off and detention on Saturday. Understood?"

She nodded dumbly, still apparently trying to process in her mind what had just happened. She got up on obviously shaky legs and clutched the blanket and sleeping bag to her chest.

His blanket. Clutched to Granger's chest. His sleeping bag. He growled inwardly. Oh well. His own fault.

She was about to scramble away, when she stopped abruptly and looked curiously at him. It seemed as if her mind had finally at least partially caught on. "How did I come to be, erm, hu, erm, to be in this position?"

Snape smirked maliciously. "You slept here, Miss Granger and I walked past on my rounds and as it is after curfew, which even applies to war-heroines and those who are old enough to be out of schools already, I found it prudent to wake you. Instead I found you muttering about not loving Weasley and breaking up with him and the next thing I know is you were clinging to my legs," he spoke in soft, mean tones.

She blushed furiously and turned, as fast as she could again – but just as she was almost out of ear-shot, she turned around quickly, obviously having found her spine. "Why do you have to be such an arse all the time, Professor Snape? The war is over, you know?" and with that, she disappeared.

He sighed quietly and realised that he had been kneeling almost the entire time. Not the best position to reprimand a student. He sank on his heels, rubbing his hand over his face and through his hair. Instinctively, or impulsively, he wasn't sure, he rolled onto his side, just where Hermione Granger had lain a few moments ago – and yes, he knew exactly why the woman was sleeping there.

The scent of the roses washed over him, enveloped him while the clouds rolled above his head over the castle – and if he crooked his neck only a little, he could see Gryffindor Tower and a bit of the owlery. Once in a while, an owl flew over his head and then, after fifteen minutes that he had been there, laying, thinking, a tiny, greyish-white pygmy owl swooped down and landed on his chest.

He was startled at first, then sighed."Well, Mercury," he spoke softly, "did you find me again?"

The owl hooted and blinked lazily, standing still on his chest. Slowly, he brought his hand up and gently, stroked the tiny bird's feathers. "She's right, isn't she?"

Mercury hooted again and nipped on his finger. Severus, despite himself, chuckled silently, knowing that nobody but the ancient bird that he had had for the longest time, heard him. He knew that usually, pygmy-owls only rarely got older than ten years, yet Mercury, the last gift he had given himself, was almost 18. And seemed well (the last visit in the owlery left him grinning slightly. Poor Mercury was living together, and it looked like breeding with a tawny owl – thank God all of those owls were a kind of magical creatures and not only lived longer but could cross-breed).

Nevertheless, he knew this bird, and the bird knew him well. Whenever Mercury raised his little eyebrows (something he had most likely picked up from his owner), Severus knew that he agreed. And now, he lifted his eyebrows.

"Mh," Severus muttered, and continued stroking the bird. "I don't want to be not an arse. It makes it simpler, you understand? They don't expect anything from me except the snarkiness and the sarcasm and meanness. It makes it so simple, bird."

Said bird hopped a little forward and was perching almost on his collarbone. Severus looked in the owl's eyes and nodded slowly. "Will you wake me?"

The owl raised his eyebrows again, hooted and with a last nip on the finger, flew off.

He rolled on his side, wrapped his robes and cloak tighter around himself and allowed his eyes to fall shut.

xx

She slept surprisingly well, and wondered, briefly (before discarding the thought), whether it was still the scent of Snape she had in her nose that kept her from being haunted by her dreams – even in her own bed. No, nothing of that – and that morning, for what seemed like the first time since she had been back at Hogwarts, she could see with a clarity that she had been so used to during her first six years there and had, somehow, evaded her in those first four and a half weeks.

She felt as if she, for the first time, really breathed deeply. Maybe a good night's sleep was the most important thing in the world. Even if she had detention to look forward to – and – she blushed at the thought, a probably irate Snape whom she had called an – she blushed even more – arse. It would probably be a detention to go down in history.

And, worse, a potions class that would go down in history.

Hermione quickly contemplated skiving off double potions. But he knew she wasn't sick. Sighing, she walked into the Great Hall and her eyes were immediately drawn to the staff table. He looked surprisingly well, too. Not too angry, in fact and, combing through her own memories, it was really the first time she had seen him sitting up there at breakfast. And more than that, it seemed, he was actually talking to – the headmistress.

'Now that makes sense,' she thought to herself. He had slept in the courtyard. The scowl on his face was almost – almost – absent and the discussion he seemed to have with Professor McGonagall seemed friendly. And, apart from that, he looked relaxed.

She raised her eyebrows, and broke into a smile when she found Luna sitting on the Gryffindor table, her eyes fixed on a bowl of porridge.

"Morning," Hermione said brightly and sat down on the bench.

"You slept well," Luna remarked without actually looking up. "Do you think I could let this dry and make a necklace?"

Hermione grimaced. "It's oatmeal, Luna. And the colour is less than appealing."

Luna shrugged. "Just a thought. And?"

"And what?"

"Did you sleep well?"

Hermione smiled and gently put her head on the younger girl's shoulder. "Yes. I did. Eventually."

"Mh?" Luna asked, and tried to look at Hermione but failed, since she still had her head on her shoulder.

Hermione sighed, but didn't change her position. "I went to the courtyard as usual and fell asleep there. And then Professor Snape came and I have detention on Saturday."

"Oh poor you," Luna was commiserating. "But he's here for the first time this term."

"Mh"

"And looks quite relaxed, might I add," Luna said dreamily, staring, unabashed, up at the staff table.

"That only means that we're going to lose more points in detention," Ginny had plonked down on the seat next to Hermione. "It's never a good sign when he's relaxed."

"He hasn't been relaxed in years probably," Hermione argued.

Ginny shrugged and began eating her eggs. "Anyway, I'm meeting Harry in Hogsmeade, so if I pale in a moment and run from the hall..."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's Friday, why can't you just wait until tomorrow? I'm sure he could change his days..."

"He will be here tomorrow as well but _I_ want to see my boyfriend," Ginny quipped.

"And what exactly are you implying?" Hermione was seething.

Ginny shrugged, pointed her wand inside her robes at herself, muttered a spell and a moment later, she was very pale and ran from the hall, knocking over a tiny first year and by that, making sure that everyone noticed her absence.

"People will think she's pregnant," Luna mused – and Hermione chuckled. "You do want to see Ron, don't you?"

Hermione nodded solemnly. "Of course I do. But he's in Ireland, or travels and I can't get a pass to see him."

"Mh," Luna smiled at her. "You could come look for Riddiback Shimmicks on Sunday with me, if you like."

Hermione grinned. She had always been curious what such a look for an obviously non-existent animal would look like. "I'd love to."

xx

"Severus," the headmistress asked quite surprised when he billowed in with his robes and sat himself down on her left and silently tapped against his cup, getting it filled with coffee immediately.

"Headmistress," he replied as soon as he had savoured that first sip of the brown, hot liquid.

"It's quite a surprise seeing you here," Minerva added, staring at him.

He said nothing and seemingly ignored her in favour of the Daily Prophet that had appeared in front of him.

_WEASLEY SAVES THE DAY AGAIN!_

The headline flashed across the front page and he wondered why something as profane as quidditch could ever make that. But apparently, the Weasley boy had really found his calling – professional quidditch player. 'What a nice career,' he thought cynically.

"Miss Granger does not seem happy with his choice," Minerva McGonagall remarked off-handedly, knowing, or hoping, that this comment would trigger something inside of her younger colleague. And, unsurprisingly, it did. She knew that Severus was odd when it came to the sport. He didn't like to waste time, as he called it, watching an endless game and preferred to only watch those big games – the World Cup, high class league games when he knew that a seeker, or the seekers, were exceptionally good. On the other hand, he knew, or had known, most of the things there were to know about all the teams, all the players of the teams and all the scores during the seasons and the seasons before.

"It fits his, how shall I put it, mental and intellectual range," he replied, remembering faintly how one could wind up the quidditch-obsessed Headmistress.

And it did work – on both parts. Minerva stared (rubbing her hands underneath the table) and Severus smirked (rubbing his hands underneath the table). "Quidditch is a noble sport and it requires a lot of thinking."

"When one is a keeper? One would think it's not that challenging, intellectually at least, to guard three rings."

"Of course it is, you need to keep your eyes on the entire game. You need to see what is happening and..."

He hummed and listened to her lecturing him on her favourite subject and thought that maybe, Hermione Granger had been right – he had been an arse, even more than usual. And when he had been woken by a nip and a hoot from his owl that morning, early, so that he could slip back from the courtyard to his own quarters before anyone else was up, he had decided that he would at least try and restore some of the relations he had had with his colleagues. Or at least Minerva.

Even if she had tried to kill him.

No, because she had tried to kill him – because she had been loyal to Hogwarts, loyal to Dumbledore, loyal to the cause.

He smirked – and interrupted her mid-sentence. "But still, nothing much is happening at the moment if this," he pointed at the headline, "makes the front page."

Minerva huffed.

xx

She huffed – but smiled inwardly. No, she beamed inwardly – she was certain her insides were glowing. Severus was back. Snarky, grumpy Severus who argued with her.

"Fancy a game of chess tonight?" she asked quietly, knowing that nobody else but him had heard her.

He raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Why not."

Now she allowed herself to smile at him openly. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Don't. I'm sure I'll still beat you," he smirked, glad that he had been invited. Once, he had valued his friendship to Minerva more than almost anything – she had levelled him, she had helped him into the infirmary more than once when he had returned from one of His sessions, she had made him laugh and she was always good for a nice argument. And a good game of chess.

"Care for a wager?" she looked at him sternly.

He shrugged non-committally. "Why not?"

"You will wear green for a day when I win," she smirked and he groaned.

"No."

"Yes. And I will wear black."

"That's no wager. You often wear a black robe."

She shrugged. "Suggest something else than."

"I'll think of something," he grinned crookedly and, with a nod towards her, left the table.

_**xx**_


	8. Chapter 8

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

The entire student body of Hogwarts couldn't help themselves – from the tiny first years, up to the almost grown-up seventh years. They stared, they gaped, they gasped, they whispered amongst themselves. And even when two glares were shot back – icy cold and stern – they couldn't stop themselves. It was (and probably still is) in the nature of students to be curious about their teachers – their private lives having a mysterious air that needed to observed and speculated about.

There were many things during the time that Hogwarts had existed, when students saw exactly what they had been gossiping about (back in 1632, for instance, when Professor Merrilow had asked for Professor Black's hand, right at the Welcoming Feast, or, in 1874, when Madam McDougall, the resident medi-witch had stunned Professor Duncan during breakfast (apparently, the poor woman had then left Hogwarts and had a child approximately 8 months later, while Professor Duncan married a pure-blood trophy wife called Mary Isadora Malfoy and with her had a daughter, named Angela Isadora a few years later and left England under the pressure of the very influential McDougall family), or in 1249, when Professor Maygreen suddenly died and his head fell into his plate full of dinner). And yet, there had always been surprises.

One thing, however, nobody was prepared to see (or expecting to see), was right there in front of their eyes, on this third day of October, a rainy Saturday – Hogsmeade day.

First, Professor Snape had come into the Great Hall from the back entrance and seated himself on the seat left of that for the Headmistress, smirking and sneering, tapping for his coffee, his eyes fixed on the doors right in front of him. So far, that was nothing special (apart from the fact that he hadn't often been to breakfast during that term – only once, in fact). But when the doors opened, all hell broke loose. No, not all hell but what was happening, took the breath of more than one student away and things, they knew, would likely never be really the same (though, as it is custom, students do tend to exaggerate sometimes). And as they were all watching the door and the small aisle between the tables, nobody saw Professor Snape grinning good-naturedly but all the same, very triumphantly.

The headmistress, however, object of the stares, merely raised her eyebrows a little angrily, made shooing motions with her hands and proceeded to walk up to the staff table.

"Damn you, Severus Snape," she muttered as she sat down.

"You wanted a wager," he replied tartly.

"None where I would be stared at all day long," she complained.

"Oh headmistress, this suits you well," Filius Flitwick commented from his slightly elevated chair.

"Mh, Minerva, looks good on you," Pomona Sprout grinned.

"Besides, Minerva McGonagall," Severus hid his gleeful grin behind his coffee cup, "it does look very different. And remember, I _would_ have worn green."

She huffed and looked down at herself. "I want a rematch," she muttered.

"So you can wear that again?" he pointed at her and smirked, "oh, and you might want to keep your eyes on Mister Sloper. I believe he's drooling."

She huffed again. "It's your fault."

"And the best part?" he asked, leaning in close, "nobody will ever believe that. Who would think that a Death Eater made the Headmistress of Hogwarts wear muggle clothes?" he smirked, then leaned back in his chair. "Only I didn't quite expect you to take it so literally."

"Literally?" she snapped. "This is all I had. All that's left from when I had to wear it during...you know."

He raised his eyebrows, obviously pleased and knew that he would pay for this – eventually. It was her own fault, however, that she had chosen muggle slacks (a witch in pants? In Hogwarts? Apart from Madam Hooch? Never heard of) and a blouse that was a tiny bit on the tight side over her chest. He hadn't planned this – and he certainly hadn't planned on certain students (not only Sloper – though he had been the most obvious), staring wild-eyed at the Headmistress (or, rather at her chest). For Merlin's sake, the woman was over 70.

"Merlin's beard!" Hagrid had arrived for breakfast as well and he looked like...no, Severus Snape had never seen him look like that. "No wonder Albus Dumbledore 'ad the 'ots for ye," he muttered as silently as he could and this time, Snape could not hide the smirk, especially since Minerva had pulled her wand from the sleeve of the beige blouse and pointed it – underneath the table, not visible to the students, at the half-giant.

"One more word," she threatened.

Hagrid retreated and sat down at the other end of the table.

"Minerva, stop being so stuck up, you look marvellous and everyone knows that you and Albus were...," Madam Pomfrey made a very clear gesture, then sat down next to Severus Snape, turning to him immediately. "Did you two play chess?"

"Indeed we did," he replied silkily before he shot Minerva a last look – a grin, even if he hid it – and stalked off.

"What happened?" Pomona asked, leaning over to Minerva.

"Chess game. I lost," she shrugged.

The Herbology Professor chuckled. "It's good to see the two of you doing that again."

Minerva glared at her – for only a moment – before he gaze softened. "Yes. Yes."

"And he made you wear those muggle clothes?"

She nodded dismally, "It was either me wearing muggle clothes or him wearing blue and green. For a day."

Pomona Sprout sighed deeply and reached out to cover Minerva's hand. "I'm sure he'll be back to his old self, before, well, all of this, in no time."

The headmistress shook his head. "No, I doubt it. He didn't talk a bit about himself last night. Not one sentence."

"And he always came confiding in you," Pomona sighed again. "Give it time. It's not even half a year since we all thought he was...and I'm sure he didn't expect us to welcome him with open arms."

"But we did. I did. I want the old Severus back – the one who..."

"He came to play with you, didn't he? He's a stubborn, idiotic, surly man – but he's got a kind heart, and eventually, he'll forgive all of us. And you'll be the one he'll forgive soonest. I just know."

Minerva shrugged and squeezed the other woman's hand. "Thanks. It's just that..."

"We all missed him and his damn sense of humour, I know. But you, well, Minerva, it looks like you brought it back. Partially." She pointed at the clothes, sniggered and with a wink, turned back to her breakfast.

xx

Hermione was, of course, one of those students, who, even after the initial shock had worn off, still glanced up at the staff table occasionally. The headmistress looked younger in those clothes, fresher, not so stern (despite the glare), and not so serious. She thought it was a nice touch for her to be wearing something so completely out of place in those ancient halls of Hogwarts and Hermione wondered whether it shouldn't be compulsory for everyone to be wearing muggle clothes once in a while – just to see the difference. She personally, preferred trousers to skirts – but with the uniform, well that left only the skirts. Still, why everyone made such a fuss about Professor McGonagall wearing something like this was beyond her. Around two thirds of the students was wearing something similarly mugglish.

'Oh well,' she thought, 'let them stare.'

"Are you going to Hogsmeade today?" Luna asked suddenly, poking Hermione in the side.

She shrugged – she didn't really need to go or could go, thanks to the detention but even if she could have – there was nothing there, even if she longed to see Harry. But he would be – most assuredly – be busy with Ginny and if she talked to him too much, the red-head would display signs of the slight, green-eyed monster (which was, of course ridiculous – but whatever). She would owl him or something. As she needed to owl Ron. If only she knew what to write. The last night, spent in her own bed, relatively nightmare free, she had dreamed again about breaking up with him. And that was, frankly, disconcerting. She needed to see him – somehow. But it wasn't long until Halloween. And he would probably come and see her then – or she would sneak out. Or get to meet him. He would probably be at the Burrow. Or something. She had to talk to him – and see him. Full stop.

"Hermione?" Luna asked again, looking at her quizzically.

"Sorry. What did you ask?"

"Are you going to Hogsmeade today?"

Hermione shook her head. "No. I have detention. Didn't I tell you? ."

She frowned, then nodded. "When does it start?"

"In an hour."

"Good!" Luna beamed and pulled her friend up. "I have a belated birthday present for you."

"What?" Hermione asked, hated being pulled out of the Great Hall.

"A belated birthday present. Come on," she sounded urgent for once.

xx

"Erm," was the most intelligent thing Hermione could think of saying. And then: "Erm."

Luna laughed. "Rigoli just mated with this tiny owl and since you don't have a familiar any more since Crookshanks died, I thought, you'd like an owl," she smiled and plucked one tiny, tiny owl from where it sat and carefully handed it to Hermione. It could fit into the palm of her hand.

It hooted softly and blinked up at the Gryffindor. "Luna, I don't know what to say."

"Thank you is always nice to hear," Luna grinned sheepishly. "No, look, maybe you need someone to talk to and this little fellow will not interfere and he will just listen to you. He'll be like a diary without the actual stupid writing down and everything. You just need to talk to him and, as he's Rigoli's son, he'll give you answers."

"Erm."

Luna shrugged. "He's old enough to come with you. But don't put him in a cage. Bond with him and if he wants out, let him," she said dreamily and vanished from the owlery.

Hermione needed a moment to compose herself, the little owl still sitting in her palm, but occasionally bending forward a bit and nipping on her skin. "Hermes," she said breathlessly and timidly, she began to stroke the soft feathers. The bird seemed to lean into the touch and made a softer hooting noise, before looking at her and seemed to raise his tiny eyebrows ever so slightly. She nodded and carried him carefully to her dormitory.

xx

"Cauldrons, Miss Granger," he commanded neutrally – seeing that she was faring much better, that her hands weren't really trembling.

She nodded and pulled the robes over her head before she rolled up her sleeves and summoned a pot of water, cleanser and a sponge. She knew this worked best – most everything else would destroy the cauldrons or wouldn't make them clean. It was odd, however, and a kind of anti-climactic, that he only ordered her what to do – no reprimanding of what she had said, of what she had done. Nothing. He merely sat and scribbled something.

From time to time (after every cauldron to be precise), she looked up and noticed that his hands, in comparison to hers, were shaking ever so slightly. After the fifth messy pewter thing (seriously, what did students do with them?), they had grown worse, hers, non-existent, still and she decided, well, because she was a Gryffindor and stupid sometimes, to speak up.

"Essence of toad, sir," she said softly.

"I don't think I've given you permission to speak," he retorted sharply.

"No, but your hands. I have the same thing. Bellatrix Lestrange, sir. And essence of toad helps, I find," she blurted, crossing her toes not to get another detention.

"Essence of toad? How did you get that silly idea?"

"It's not silly and it wasn't my idea. I'm only saying it worked with me," she looked up defiantly. "But I can see you don't want my help, sir. So, I'll just let you have those idiotic tremors, because seriously, they don't affect you at all," she added, seeing that this had just caused him to let a large ink drop fall on the parchment in front of him.

"Detention, Miss Granger!"

"I already am in detention. You cannot treat me like a first year."

"You cannot act like someone who is out of school. You might be older than your classmates but you have exactly the same rights and duties they have. So you should act like it," his voice got that icy cold, scary edge and he knew it. Even though – essence of toad...

"Fine," she huffed. "When?"

"Every night next week. Starting Monday. Until Friday."

"Fine," she shrugged. "It's not like I have other things to do."

He turned back to his texts – the notes he had made. Essence of toad. Not very commonly used in potions and not very, well, no. Frankly, essence of toad was disgusting. To be putting it on one's skin – horrible. Basically, one sat a live toad into a cauldron with a solution of water and alcohol (not too much) and waited. Waited until the toad had died and it all boiled down to a pasty, gummy, brownish-green concoction. Not very nice to make.

"You don't make it yourself, do you?" he asked despite himself.

She looked up, puzzled. "I have it delivered, sir. I don't think anyone in my House would be appreciative of me cooking toad somewhere in the common room."

He nodded and said nothing.

Essence of toad. That together with the...maybe that was it.

xx

He knew that she wasn't really mad at him – she was just miffed because she would have loved to see him in something other than black. But no, during dinner, she was still in her muggle clothes (and he had to admit it, she looked younger than her years – and even though it hurt, somehow, to think about it, but Severus knew that Albus would have been proud of his long-term companion, lover, whatever), after all, Minerva was a woman of her word. If nothing else (and well, she was plenty else). And yet, she still glared a little at him.

"Sunday after dinner," she hissed in his direction.

"Fine by me," he said softly back without letting go of his neutral mask. "Maybe you want to think of a wager this time – even though your glare does not bother me in the last, it was disconcerting to say the least, to see the students panting and heckling and drooling when you walked past."

"They did not!" she argued fiercely.

"I would check all the sweets I get sent in the next couple of days for any kind of love potion," he teased.

"Severus, please," she rolled her eyes. "This is ridiculous. And you know it. You only do this to wind me up."

He smirked simply and speared up a carrot with his fork.

"Didn't you have detention today? Miss Granger seems to still be alive."

He looked over at her with raised eyebrows and his thin lips pressed together. "Do you think I would cook her?"

"One never knows with you," she grinned.

He breathed deeply and, seeing that Flitwick next to him was busy talking to Pomfrey, and Sprout, next to her, was busy trying to keep Page (new, Defence against the Dark Arts – would not even last that year), he bent over slightly. "I might have found it," he whispered cryptically.

She eyed him suspiciously. "What?"

He just nodded and turned back to his food. Let her wonder about it for a while.

_**xx**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Mandrake. Surely he would need mandrake. Ask Pomona about it.

Essence of toad. Where had she gotten that idea from? Essence of toad. Maybe, maybe if he merely used the...no, it needed to be alive, didn't it? But, if he killed the toad with the cry of the mandrake, then, well...maybe.

He scribbled furiously on a bit of parchment, not noticing that a very amused looking headmistress stood in the middle of his office, waiting for him to look up. A headmistress, who was once again in her familiar robes, glad that she didn't have to endure another day with all those stares. He had been right, by the way – some of them were drooling, but seriously, that was just the novelty of her in something so outlandish (for her at least) and had nothing to do with how she looked like. And he, well, Severus, had always teased her and Albus in private about their relationship (though nobody knew the truth) – once, after half a bottle of single-malt firewhiskey, he had even told Albus that it wasn't proper not to have made an honest woman out of her decades ago.

She smiled softly at the memory of that night. He, Severus that is, had been invited to a night at the Malfoys (between the wars, obviously) and had come back angrily and disgusted and had needed a place to vent. Now, usually, he would do that alone (she knew that), and had done so then, only once with them together. Only that night, he had slumped down in one of the chairs in Albus's sitting room and had begun to drink – and those drinks had loosened his tongue.

Maybe, she thought, she could repeat that.

"Severus?" she asked, grinning friendly.

"What?" he snarled back, unhappy to be disturbed.

"You missed dinner."

"Good."

"And I faintly remember a chess game we were supposed to be having after dinner. Since you missed dinner, it is now after dinner," she explained, stepping closer.

"I have to cancel."

"You've been down here all day. It's time to take a break," she replied sternly and with a wave of her wand (oh yes, she could be quite sneaky and mean if she wanted to), the headmistress had summoned his notebook to herself – and shut it without looking inside. "You'll get that back when I've had my game of chess."

"Horrible woman," he muttered, then looked up at her. "Why are you so insistent on this?"

"Because," she replied without missing a beat, "you need to get out of this office, the lab and the dungeons in general once in a while."

"I was up Friday for chess."

She shrugged. "I don't care."

"You're worse than my mother ever was," he mumbled but got up nevertheless. He knew that, against a Minerva in a mood like this, he stood no chance.

xx

"So you found it?" she asked mere minutes later when she set up her black pieces (she always insisted on them, saying that she liked them better and that the black of the pieces clashed horribly with the black of his robes.

He shook his head, scratching his chin. "Not yet, not. But I'm working on it. In fact, I'd be working on it right now if it hadn't been for you."

"Good then," she smirked and poured him a glass of firewhiskey, "your mind needs a rest once in a while."

"Chess? You call that a rest for my mind?"

"Well...yes. It's better than all those calculations and theoretical approaches and things. At least for now, you'll be able to think clearer if we played for a while," she reasoned and wanted to hand him the glass but he shook his head vehemently.

"No."

"No? You never say no to a..."

"I'm saying no now, alright? And if you don't stop acting like my mother, I'll..."

"Alright," she replied steadily and instead, summoned a cup of tea for him, taking the tumbler full of amber liquid herself, "even though I don't know why you should bring up Eileen twice in ten minutes."

"Because you're trying to protect me and I don't need the protection," he glared at her viciously, "and because you'll fai...," he stopped suddenly, looking down at the pieces and pulling on his left ear slightly.

She sighed and reached out for his hand, taking it gently and tugging on it until he looked up again. "I will not fail protecting you. I did that once, I won't ever again."

He snorted. "Stop making promises you can't keep. You've made one once before and I'd rather not have a repeat performance."

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, unable to speak. She knew she had hurt him – hurt him more than most people by not trusting him. Because she had promised to – she had promised to believe him, believe Albus, believe that Severus was a spy – and in the end, she had not. She had promised to help him in whatever way she could – and she hadn't been able to keep that promise either. She had never understood – never – how much he had been hurt by her mistrust, even if it was all for the better that she had. But still, sometimes, those things that are for the best, hurt the most.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and scrunched them up tightly, keeping them back – or trying to. And once more, failing.

"I'm sorry," she choked and within a heartbeat, she had bolted from her chair and stood next to him, then, turned him around in his chair with a flick of her wand, put that on the table and, with only her arms and the adrenaline and the guilt she was feeling, pulled him up and hugged him harder than she had ever hugged anyone else.

xx

Hermione blinked up at her new owl. Hermes, she had called him. It had just come to her – with the blink of his eye – and her eyes. He was a cute little owl, tiny, reddish-grey, with large (naturally) eyes. And he seemed to trust her already, seemed to know that he belonged to her (and vice versa, naturally), and he even seemed to understand her. And listen to her.

Still, sleep didn't come that night, despite the owl perching on a bar she had conjured at the head of her bed. "Come on, Hermes," she whispered softly and the owl, ever awake, it seemed (though, to be honest, he had slept most of the day that Hermione had studied in the library), hopped onto her hand.

She made her way quickly, securely, to the courtyard, making a mental note to write to Harry and ask about the cloak. It would be, in the future, better to have the cloak (or, if she could get her hands on one, a regular invisibility cloak). Just in case Snape, Professor Snape, she corrected herself, felt the urgent need to take points from her again.

She sat down, leaning against the half wall that separated the courtyard from the corridors of Hogwarts and pulled her knees up close before she gently sat Hermes on one of her knees, looking at him quizzically.

"That's ridiculous," she muttered and let her head fall back against the wall.

xx

He never knew how to return hugs. Well, he didn't have much practise with hugs in the least and the last time he had been hugged like this – erm – he didn't remember when that had been.

But, slowly, he brought his hands up to her back and patted her awkwardly there for just a moment, until he could finally get a hold of himself.

"Minerva, that's ridiculous. Don't be so sentimental. We all know that his plan worked exactly this way..."

"But I should've seen it," she sniffed against his robes, clinging to him. Still clinging to him. It felt like hours.

"Then it wouldn't have worked out the way it should have," he replied, wondering why he didn't let her grovel some more. Why he didn't let her take some of the guilt. Right – because really, she wasn't guilty. Because he had known (not liked – hated, in fact, but known) that she would hate him before the end. And she had. Just as planned.

"But 'e trusted ye. I should've dunnit," she sniffed some more, then suddenly pulled back, realising, a moment too late, that she had fallen hard back into her brogue. She clutched his robes with one arm, while she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief in the other, never taking her eyes off his. "I want it to be the way it used to, Severus."

He swallowed. The way it used to be – her being the maternal friend – the person with the most outrageous wagers, the best conversations he had shared with someone, apart from Albus, someone who had known him all his life – and had mostly not judged him. Mostly.

"Let's just play," he said softly.

xx

She sat and stared at the owl, then took some parchment from her robes and wrote. Difficult task though it was, with an owl sitting on her knee and the parchment pressed tightly against her thigh. More than once, Hermes gave an indignant shriek (or almost indignant anyway) and hopped to her other knee, for fear of being buried by parchment. But he stayed.

Stayed.

_Dear Ron,_

_it's good to hear you are doing so well with your team. You are right – I really do want to see you play, even though I am unsure when I will be able to get away from Hogwarts long enough to do that. I have read in the Daily Prophet that you might be in the way to a new record – wow, Ron! Already seven games without any goals. Brilliant!_

_I am doing alright here. The subjects are getting more difficult – as you might imagine – and I barely have time for anything apart from studying. Even though Professor Snape gave me detention the entire next week. Honestly..._

_Otherwise, I am fine and Ginny, as well as Luna send their love. Ginny saw Harry this weekend as he was able to get to Hogsmeade for a weekend. I hope – I really hope that, with winter arriving, you might be coming here soon. _

_I miss you so much, Ron! It physically hurts not seeing you. Please come soon. _

_I love you,_

_Hermione_

Unsure, of whether to send this cheesy, overly sentimental, horrible letter (only her fourth attempt), she looked, once more at the owl.

"Well, Hermes, what do you say? Am I being honest?" she asked the bird.

xx

He was glad to be away from the still sniffing woman. Honestly – all through their (short) game, she had sniffed and begun to cry again. Horrible. It was not normal.

Maybe, he should have told her that he had forgiven her. Or maybe not. Maybe let her stew for a bit longer.

He had, at least, gotten his notebook back, and since he was sure that Hermione Granger would not be in the courtyard (would she risk detention again? Certainly not), he made his way there swiftly.

He stopped however, a few feet away from the stone archway that was the entrance and heard a soft voice speak. Someone was leaning against the half-wall that separated the courtyard from the corridor. And that someone spoke softly.

"Am I being honest? How can I seriously write that I love him when I don't even think about him all that often?"

He knew that voice. And – he felt compelled to listen.

_**xx**_


	10. Chapter 10

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**This is dedicated to my mum – who will probably never read this and even if she does, will not know that I've written it. But, mummy – I love you and your smell and your embrace will be in my mind, my memory forever. Thank you.**_

_**xx**_

He stood, transfixed. He had wanted to barge in – barge in and give her another set of detentions and take even more points but then, suddenly, he found himself crouching low, looking just over the edge of the low wall and saw the owl perching on a knee. This was most certainly one of Mercury's little ones (and he didn't even think about the fact that, legally, those might be his owls – especially since he didn't know whose owl it was that his had mated with). And she was talking to the bird. In a way, he had never heard Granger speak before. Low, tired, sad. Feminine. Not know-it-all-y. Not at all.

"Maybe if I give up Hogwarts, and go somewhere where I can leave whenever I want to, and I can see him more often, then, it'll get simpler. But – I really don't know if I want to quit right now. And why should I? It's what I wanted to do. But him, there with that bloody quidditch and me here – we will never make it, will we, Hermes?"

It would just be like her to name that bloody owl Hermes. He frowned, slid down further and continued to listen to her, listen to her pouring her heart out to the owl – and to him. Even though she didn't know he was there.

"But I love Ron, I think. He's who I want to be with and who I'm supposed to be with, I s'pose. It should be the man I spend the rest of my life with and I don't see anything wrong with that, either. I mean, what if I never find my parents again? What if that bloody PI only takes my money and then, nothing? What if they just love their live in Australia and don't want to be found? Or can't be found?" she sighed suddenly and he was afraid she wouldn't continue speaking but after a faint thud and a slight pause, she continued, "I miss my parents, Hermes," she said and it was very obvious that she was crying and was still trying to suppress those sobs, "my mum, I know we didn't spend a lot of time together and that we had fights whenever we were together, but right now, all I want to do is fall into her arms and let her console me. She had this great way of doing this – do you know? No, of course you don't, you're just an owl after all," at that, he snorted inwardly, knowing of the powers that a familiar had – once you began talking to it, "but she would hug me and stroke my back and hold me tight and rock me gently back and forth. And there was this smell. Only my mum smelled this way, Hermes. It's – I can't even describe it. It's just the way that mummy smells. Like home and safety and the feeling that nothing can harm me. Do you feel the same way?"

He felt himself nodding, remembering a time when he had been a little boy and she had held him – protecting him from father. And he remembered the smell – like her, he couldn't define it, despite his extraordinarily good nose. It was just how mother had smelled. A bit of bread, a bit of her shampoo, a bit of her perfume, a bit of the washing powder. Just mum. He shut his eyes tightly and pressed his lips together.

"And dad, I don't know. I just want to hug him and tell him that I'm in trouble and don't know what to do – that I need his advice. I know what he'd say. He'd say, Hermione, listen to yourself. Make your own decision. Listen to what you really want to do – balance your heart and your mind and your stomach and you'll know what is right. And then, he'd talk about other things and I'd be able to make up my mind," there was a sob, then, apart from a few sniffles, silence.

Crying women – how he disliked them. And yet, he understood her pain. Not about her father – oh no, not that – but about missing her mother. He had felt the same way a bit earlier when Minerva had hugged him. He hadn't been hugged this way in years. Not since Eileen had died.

Mum. Not since mum had died when he had been 16. Nobody but Albus and Minerva had really touched him since then – not voluntarily. He – he hadn't touched anyone with his hands, really, not even the purebloods – He hadn't wanted to get dirty. Stupid, idiotic, megalomaniac monster. Had never really wanted to touch someone with his hands. Feet, yes, Hands, no.

'Stop it, Snape,' he told himself sternly. And again. And again.

"My mum would know what to do with Ron. My mum and dad would put things into perspective and I've lost it. What would they say, Hermes, do you know?"

'Finish your education,' he wanted to tell her – but only in his mind, did he say it.

"Probably that I should finish school, then go to a university. Then get a job, then think about what I want to do – and then, then decide whether I want to get married and settle down. But God only knows that Ron won't be happy with that, probably. And that I don't know whether this is what I want. Hell, Hermes, my family doesn't even know that I exist and I don't know what they're doing and right now, the Weasleys are my only family and they're not bad people. Just think, Hermes, what a true fairy tale ending. The saviour of our world, with his two best friends – and he marries the daughter of the family who had more or less taken him in, and the one part of that so-called golden trio – how I hate that name – married the other part. The triangle is bound together forever. Man and wife, sister-in-law, brother-in-law. How perfect this is. Everyone expects this and I'm not sure I'm ready to let them down, my bird," she whispered and he had to strain his ears to hear her. But her words make an impact. In a way.

She sighed softly, the noise of her blowing her nose and the owl, hooting encouragingly. "I know, Hermes, I know. I don't have to make a decision right now – he's away and I'm here and there's no need to rush into anything. But I just keep on seeing Molly's face, Arthur's face when I tell them that Ron and I are over. It's not a nice sight. And I love Ron," she sighed again and once more, paused.

And paused some more. So long, in fact, that he almost felt safe that she had fallen asleep and just when he wanted to leave his crouching position, when he wanted to pull the blanket over her again, when he wanted to levitate her back inside (it had gotten cold), she began to speak again.

"And I'll never be the wife Ron wants me to be. I can't see myself with him in ten year time, can't see myself being Missus Weasley and stay at home, even if he hinted that he wants to wait with children. Children, mind, not child. I can't do that. I want to work. I want to do things. I want to find a cure for those bleeding tremors and if it's the last thing I do. I want to...," she stopped again – and he held his breath. Not because of what she had said – well maybe – but because she seemed to shift slightly, "I just want to be someone. I want to live up to those damn Gryffindor standards – and I don't know how I can when I'm his wife."

Severus nodded to himself. No, she couldn't do that. Certainly not.

"It's just that...too many obligations," she said softly and then – nothing.

He waited. And waited. And waited. Five minutes? Ten? Probably twenty, who knew? He waited until the owl hooted, hopped onto the wall and from there on his knee where he looked at him expectantly. Silently, he rose an eyebrow, took the owl into the palm of his hands and summoned the blanket and sleeping bag.

_**xx**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Odd. Odd. Odd. There was a shift in his perception. Nothing major. But – suddenly, yes, suddenly, Hermione Granger was a real person. A tired, sad, depressed person. Not a little machine that could recite all the facts in a book after dislocating her shoulder. No, she was now, completely, unequivocally, indubitably Hermione Granger who talked to her owl.

Under the cover of the curtain of his hair, and the fact that she was brewing manically, stirring, chopping, checking her notes and didn't realise anything that was going on around her, he observed her during lesson on Monday morning – approximately 6 hours after she had poured her soul out to the bird. He made a note on the side of his parchment to check about his owl and who he had mated with – before he looked up at her again – only to be grinned at by none other than Luna Lovegood. Irritating Loony Lovegood. Grinning. Just what he needed.

"Anything the matter, Miss Lovegood?" he snarled suddenly, startling most of the other students.

Luna Lovegood shook her head – her grin morphed into a beaming smile. "Nothing, sir."

"Then I suggest you stop beaming like a supernova and get back to your potion. Otherwise...," he trailed off.

She shrugged and turned back to her potion – only after winking at Hermione.

And yes, he wondered what that wink was for. And he had every intention of finding things out that night. And the next night. And the night after that. Good thing he had already assigned her detention and she wouldn't serve it with Minerva or Filch or anyone but with him. And if it meant talking to her – not that he would be a good person or someone cuddly or talkative or anything but as far as he could see – and yes, he did see that, without actually feeling like a good person or a hero or whatnot, he saw that she needed to vent stuff – and not to an owl – and the way she had shifted away from the Weasley girl neither to her, nor to Luna Lovegood, who, to be honest, wasn't probably the best confidante in the world (especially since she went on and on about wrack-things and whatnot usually).

Not that he wanted her to confide in him – oh no, heaven forbid – but if he knew exactly, from her mouth, what the problem was, he could direct her to Minerva. Or any other female teacher at the school, or maybe a male teachers, seeing that she had never had a real female, girly (yes, he snorted that word in his head) friend – seeing that those she had usually used for talking to were Potter and the youngest Weasley (whom she didn't love. Or did love. Or she wasn't sure whether she did). Probably more Potter than Weasley – since, seriously, could that boy listen?

Inwardly, he shook his head indignantly. He make her to talk somehow – and then, perfect, he would point out her problems (seriously, there would even be a little potential in it for future reference – should he ever need to get back to her) to someone who would be better suited to help her. Or talk to her. Or whatever it was that she needed. And – to make the entire plan perfect – she would be better after that and he would not have to share his blanket and share the courtyard with her.

Perfect.

xx

"Professor Snape?" she asked, walking into the Potions classroom, looking expectantly.

"Miss Granger, why don't you just scrub the tables?" he got up from the seat on his desk and moved closer to where she was standing.

She nodded slowly and gathered the supplies she needed for cleaning the tables. She had never done it before. And she didn't think that anyone had ever only done this before. Usually, a quick cleaning charm was performed after class and that worked nicely. But if this was what he wanted her to do, she would. It wouldn't be so hard – the wood was charmed to be stain-resistant – scribble-resistant – even dirt-resistant. She shrugged to herself and began in the back of the class, wondering why he was going to easy on her – she had slept exceptionally nice that night.

xx

The plan was made, the plan was perfect, but how to start. How to start and not make her believe that he had gone soft, which of course, he hadn't at all. He just needed at least one student in the class who completely had a grasp of the matter. And who had respect for the subject. Who was actually good at it. And who had...

"Miss Granger, would you think that maybe if you killed the toad before you made the essence, it would lose some of the properties?" he asked suddenly, thinking that this might be the way in. Quizzing her.

"Excuse me?" she asked, looking up from wiping the table in the back.

"I know you paid attention. So just answer the question."

"Is that a quiz?"

"No, a serious question. I haven't often worked with essence of toad, seeing that most potions do not require it and after consulting a few books and tomes, I couldn't find an answer. They all say essence of toad – not whether it has to be alive."

She looked at him in serious puzzlement. Or puzzled seriousness. He wasn't sure which – then let the rag fall on the table and bit her lip. "I'm not sure if toads are like frogs."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I'm sure you know that – if you put a frog in boiling water, it'll jump right out again, but if the water's heated slowly, the frog doesn't know and will just sit and boil."

"And what does that have to do with the question whether the toad has to be alive or not?" he asked testily, his voice, as usual, getting even raspier and it hurt to talk by the end of the day. And it was not his turn to talk. Hers.

"Nothing, really. I just thought of it – and as far as I know you have to put the toad into cold water. And that was maybe why I thought of it. But, I know that there's adrenaline when you die – at least sometimes and, if it's killed too quickly, the toad that is, there isn't any – but if you wouldn't kill it too quickly, there would be, probably. That could interfere with it, though I'm not sure whether that'd be the case. The way I understand it is that the essence of toad basically works by the way that all parts of it is used, including all the organs and all the blood. And the literature I consulted also stated that it's more potent, excuse the pun, if you take a male toad. But as you say, since it's not used that often, I couldn't really say," she rattled off, forgetting to breathe and moving closer to the desk – obviously unconsciously.

"Mh. Svensson?" he asked, referring to the book he had consulted on essence of toad.

"Yes," she smiled weakly. "I even tried the restricted section but there was nothing in it. I have no idea how Luna even had that idea. Or if it was Olivander's."

He raised his eyebrows. "How come?"

"They used it back in...," she looked at him, "you know. Where she was taken."

He nodded slowly. "And you've been using it?"

She nodded too, leaning against a table, with just that to separate them. "It's been helping a lot. I know that I still have the tremors but they're not as bad as they used to be. It's bearable now, actually. Have...no."

"Yes," he looked into her eyes – knowing that she had to trust him. Not a simple task, he knew, "and it has helped. But it's expensive."

She snorted. "You don't say." She paused, then swallowed. "Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to be disrespectful, only, it really is expensive and I've gone through one jar in a week, so...," she shrugged.

"Light that flame, Miss Granger. We'll try that."

"Sir, it's..."

"Disgusting, yes. Any problems with that?" he sneered casually.

She shook her head and with her wand, lit a fire on the table in front of her, the one standing between her and him and looked at him questioningly. "A cauldron?"

"That would be sensible, Miss Granger. I'll bring the toad, male, and some alcohol," he said swiftly and was off before she could even say another word.

xx

She shook her head. Apparently, he really wanted her to help with this – and it would certainly safe both of them some money at least. Not many people bothered making essence of toad because it wasn't really used in potions (as he had pointed out – as she had pointed out) and because well, it was probably really disgusting to see a toad die this way.

Right – Snape wasn't nice. He wanted to torture her by forcing her to watch it die. The poor toad – but, she would be pragmatic. The toad made her shivers, her trembles, go away. And that was a good thing. It made her less short-tempered and maybe, it would do the same for him.

He came back after only a moment, a small canister of alcohol in his left hand, his right hand closed over something.

She put the cauldron over the fire, and waited.

"Water, Miss Granger. Make that, erm, 50 millilitres," he instructed, then put the canister on the table, "and you should measure that. If killing the toad would interfere with it, it certainly would interfere if I stunned it."

She nodded, her mind full on the task. She measured the same amount of alcohol and tipped it into the cauldron.

He nodded and a smallish toad, looking serene in the palm of his hand, was placed into the cauldron. "There it goes," he muttered very softly and looked at the poor animal.

"Seems cruel," she whispered, trying to keep her eyes on it too.

"It's either that or the tremors, Miss Granger," he rasped softly.

"I know," she replied. "May I ask a question?"

He nodded quickly without taking his eyes off the cauldron.

"Are you trying to find another solution for, erm, you know, the tremors?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you think I'd cook this animal in here if I wouldn't?"

She sighed. "I would, erm, it's just that I'd do anything to get rid of them."

"I wouldn't have thought otherwise," he interrupted, smirking, still looking at the toad – which was still making soft noises and sat peacefully in the water/alcohol solution that was growing hotter every moment, "you are putting that stuff on you. Nobody who doesn't really need it would do that."

"It is, I admit, not the most pleasant experience ever," she chuckled. "Gooey and smelly and generally just, erm, icky."

He raised his eyebrows even higher but said nothing.

"I have done a bit of research but I have only gotten so far."

"How far?" he asked curiously.

"Mandrake should go in. That's as far as I got," she replied apologetically.

"Mh," he hummed and just then, the toad stopped breathing and it lay, obviously dead, in the solution.

"Oh bloody hell," she muttered and averted her eyes and in addition, turned around, away from him.

The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. Yes – the plan was in motion.

_**xx**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

"He talked to you? And he made essence of toad with you?" Luna had sat together with Hermione in the library and they were just on their way back to their dorms.

Hermione nodded solemnly, "It was really strange. He didn't seem friendly or anything – or that he really wanted me there, but he asked for my opinion and he let me do things. And, Luna, he told me I should bring my notes on the tremor-relief."

Luna skipped two steps ahead and turned, walking backwards so she could look at Hermione. "I think he's lonely," she said dreamily. "Let's nobody through that black armour of his."

The brunette thought about her words. Then, after a moment, she shrugged. "He's not doing much to make friends, does he?"

It was Luna's turn to grin. She winked once more and suddenly, stopped. "You could be his friend."

Hermione rolled his eyes. "I cannot be friends with a teacher. And besides, Snape? Why should I want to be his friend?"

Luna beamed (and yes, he was right with the supernova – she did beam like one), hugged Hermione one-armedly, dropped a kiss on her cheek and literally bounced off, leaving a startled Gryffindor behind.

xx

"Severus?"

He groaned. The headmistress. On his doorstep (well, it wasn't literally a doorstep but something like it anyway). Even before he went on his first round. He groaned, got up and opened the door, wand in his hand.

"Minerva," he said simply (only that talking wasn't so simple at this time of day) and stepped aside, letting her inside.

"Thank you," she smiled a little and pointed at a chair. When he nodded, she sat down and smoothed out the wrinkles in her robes.

"I just thought I'd let you know that Harry Potter said he would be here at the end of the week."

Severus said nothing. He nodded briskly, but otherwise kept his face in its usual mask of non-caring.

"If it wouldn't been for him, you wouldn't be here today, Severus. You do know that, don't you?"

Severus cleared his throat and nodded again. "I am well aware of that, headmistress. But don't expect me to thank him on my hands and knees."

"No," she replied. "And I've merely wanted to let you know."

"Considerate."

She rolled her eyes. "Stop that, please," she groaned. "He's written to me. He wants to talk to you but he wrote that he would understand if you didn't want that. He is not James, Severus."

"As I am well aware off," he rasped, then, suddenly coughed.

She sat up straight and then bent forward and clapped him, more gentle than anything, on his back. "Have you been to see Poppy?"

He frowned and shook his head. "Of course not. There's nothing she can do – there's nothing anyone can do."

The headmistress sighed – and kept her hand on his back. "As I was saying, I wanted to warn you. He doesn't expect you to be there and I, well, I'd like to see you talk to him but if you don't want to, there's nothing I can do. Am not forcing you to do anything," she said softly and looked deeply into his eyes.

He nodded – swallowing. "I'll think about it," he said with a sigh, "but I won't, no, can't give you an answer just yet."

She nodded solemnly, and seemed to try and read him.

"Do you want to change?" she asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want to remain the git or do you want to change, Severus?" she repeated sternly.

Severus Snape sighed and realised that she still had her hand on his back – and that that hand was even gently stroking his back. It reminded him – as Hermione had done before, of his mother and the way she had soothed him. He put his elbows on his knees and let himself fall forward a little, his face in his hands. "I don't know," he whispered (more wasn't possible at this time of day), muffled against his palms.

"Tha's no answer, lad," she fell back into her Scottish brogue.

He shook his head in his hands and began to speak, softly, carefully, tentatively, and obviously painfully, "I don't know what I want, Minerva. It wasn't supposed to be that way. I was supposed to die during this war. No one expected me to survive, least of all myself. I should have followed Albus, I should have taken as many Death Eaters with me as I could have but I should have gone. I should have been dead. I don't know any other way to behave than this. It's me, it's who I am..."

"I don't think so," she replied softly. "I just think you've forgotten how to act as yourself."

He looked up at her and blinked. Then, again, shook his head.

"Try it, Severus. I don't say coddle the Gryffindors and give them points. Meet with Harry. Maybe not this week but some time. I'm sure he'd love to hear about Lily. Work on that potion but go up to meals, talk to people. Go to the Three Broomsticks with Filius and Hagrid once in a while. Come up for chess at least once a week with me."

He rolled his eyes, his eyebrows beetled together. "We'll see."

She exhaled hissingly and rubbed her hand over his back once more before she got up. "And use that time with Hermione Granger. That girl has some ideas that might prove to be helpful for your potion."

He couldn't say anything. Nothing about his plans – even though now would have been the perfect timing. He found, he couldn't. Not yet. But yes – yes, he would use the time with Granger. And maybe it would prove to be beneficial for his potion. Maybe she would have some ideas.

That's why he had asked her to bring her notes. He had the rest of the week with her to figure out if she had any ideas that he had not thought of.

"Night, lad," Minerva said softly but he was deep in thought and hadn't heard her.

'Good,' she thought, 'that'll give him something to think about.'

xx

And think he did – as well as Hermione. Both, more or less at the same time, came to more or less, the same conclusion.

Acting civilly. Definitely not making friends or anything of that kind. But – making an effort not to be snide, and not to be too stuck up and know-it-all-y.

It worked on Tuesday – when they finished the essence of toad. It worked on Wednesday when he, hesitantly, gave her a copy of his notes (after reading hers and getting some new ideas).

And oddly enough, neither of them needed the courtyard for peace on either of these nights.

Hermione – for one and once – did try not to dwell on that too much and she explained the entire sleeping-better-thing with the fact that she was physically as well as mentally exhausted by the end of the day.

Mentally exhausted, that was clear: classes were difficult, and, on top of that, Snape made her think twice as hard, asked her, asked questions for discussion, posed new problems, talked to her on a level that she hadn't ever talked to anyone else before. It wasn't that he was any less snarky – especially when she wasn't quick enough with an answer – or if she wasn't thinking it through enough. And he was as far from friendly as anyone could be. He was rude, arrogant at times – but she learned things and she liked to think that they made a sort of progress with the potion that would stop the tremors for good.

Physically exhausted was another thing: of course, the mental exhaustion took over her body, but then again, with Snape, she did a lot of running around. He ordered her around – sent her to pick this up or that – and twice, twice, he even allowed her into his personal store cupboard. Which, as she understood, was like being allowed in the inner sanctum of anything. Yes, she had to listen to him lecture for about 20 minutes about how important it was not to mess around with those things, not to change his order, not to pick up anything that he didn't specifically told her to – but, he did let her in. Voluntarily. And since she had to run there then, would find the requested item quickly (because he really knew where he kept his ingredients), had to run back, she was exhausted. Additionally, she barely made it back to the tower before curfew and had to run once (no, both nights) to get there in time.

But – it was a good kind of exhaustion. She enjoyed it. Despite his meanness sometimes, the belittling of her sometimes, despite him being him. Well, not quite – almost.

The one thing she noticed about him was – that once, only once the night before, Wednesday, he smiled once. Once, just before she left. When they had made the first base of the first batch of potion they would make that Thursday.

They?

Probably they. Even though he would probably rather wear pink than refer to them as 'they'. It was him and her. And they didn't work together. She was his slave during her detentions.

xx

Their base turned out nicely and he waited impatiently for her to come down after dinner. Seriously, how long could it take to finish dessert and get to the dungeons? He really wanted to get started – and while he knew that he could do perfectly without her, something held her back. Maybe the fact that the first thing to go in would have to be the essence of toad – or maybe just because he didn't know if that certain ingredient would be volatile in the base (made from wormwood and ginger and peppermint and again, a alcohol/water solution) and he did want someone around if the cauldron exploded.

Since Minerva's speech on Monday, he had made a point of taking every meal in the Great Hall (nobody knew he had shrunk her notes on Wednesday and took them with him to breakfast, lunch and dinner) and that on Tuesday, after Hermione Granger's detention, he had gone to play chess with the headmistress. Not that he made an effort – but it seemed to make things simpler.

Hagrid even brought him a bushel of apples (not that he liked apples but it seemed a nice enough gesture) and Pomona had asked him to join her and a few others for a drink at the Three Broomsticks the next day – and had hadn't said no yet. He hadn't said yes, yet, but maybe, depending on how their brewing would go today, he would let her off the last day of detention and would go with his colleagues. But he wasn't sure of that yet, of course.

xx

"I'm so sorry it took me so long again, sir," she panted, stumbling into the classroom, "Madam Hooch cornered me and asked me about Harry and Ron and...sorry." She tried hard to get her breath back and tried even harder to ignore the scowl on his face.

"Ten minutes, Miss Granger," he simply replied and motioned her in front of the bubbling cauldron. "I've heated it up already."

She breathed deeply and pulled the robes over her head. The dungeons were unusually warm and she too hot in the heavy robes.

"Finally finished, Miss Granger?" he sneered, definitely not looking at her figure in the tight, long-sleeved muggle shirt and her jeans. Who knew that she wore such things underneath the long, black solemn robes? That she would hide it. Even though he could have sworn that she had worn her usual Hogwarts skirt and blouse to classes that afternoon. He shrugged internally and turned back to the cauldron.

"Sorry, yes, sir, I'm ready," she smiled and forced her hair into a ponytail.

"Not over the table, Miss Granger, you'll lose hairs and it'll..."

"I didn't do it over the table," she looked at him disapprovingly. "Okay – can we begin?"

He stepped towards it, a small vial full of the disgusting essence of toad in his hand. "I think you should tip it in, then step back. I'll stir."

She shook her head, "I'll stir, you tip it in. Counter-clockwise?"

"Miss Granger, do you know what will happen with me when something happens to you here?" he asked softly, "Headmistress McGonagall might probably not your Head of House any more but she will have my head if something would happen to you. You pour it in, step back, I'll stir."

She tried to scowl the way he usually did but since he had pushed the vial in her hand, the scowl quickly turned into an expression of concentration.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Do it," he instructed seriously and stared at the base in the cauldron, the stirring rod ready in his hand. She nodded quickly and slowly, turned the vial until all the goo blobbed into the base.

Nothing happened – he stirred and it turned a nice shade of purple immediately. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"We did it," she said breathlessly. "Professor Snape, we did it. It's worked the way you thought it would."

He looked at it in astonishment. "Yes."

"It's purple. We add the mandrake and the Queen Anne's lace and we'll be there. It's going to work, it should be purple. We just put it together and it worked immediately. It worked."

He couldn't say a word. He would have to test this potion, naturally, but the way he saw it was exactly the way she saw it. They'd done it. The mandrake and the Queen Anne's lace would do the rest. Maybe add a little St. John's wort and it would be fine. It would have to simmer for a few days, according to his calculations (two days to be precise) and then it would be finished. How simple.

Well – if she hadn't had the idea with the toad, he wouldn't be a step closer to this but – they had done it.

"We really did," he replied whisperingly and kept on stirring.

"We should lower the flame, don't you think?"

He nodded and stopped stirring. "Thank you," he whispered – so low that she had probably not heard him.

xx

Thank you? Thank you? Professor Snape saying thank you? Impossible. Must have been a trick of her ears. Or something like this. She pushed it to the back of her head (she would have to think about this later – something more pressing was on her mind) and kept her eyes on the potion.

She just wanted to begin to speak, when he beat her to it. "I heard your friend Potter's coming here tomorrow."

"He is?" she asked, her eyes wide open and sparkling.

"The headmistress said so. And since we've come so far, I think we can push your detention to some time next week. Or the week after."

"So I can spend time with Harry?" her eyes sparkled even more and she smiled broadly.

He shook his head. "Of course not. But this has to simmer for a day until the rest can be added."

"I can come by on Saturday then," she suggested.

"You don't have to. We could just postpone the detention."

She bit her lower lip and tried to sort her thoughts – and her mind battled – cowardice or courage. And the Gryffindor won. "Erm, Professor Snape, sir, would you mind if I actually helped you finish the potion?"

He looked at her – completely taken by surprise. But before he could sort his thoughts, he heard his own voice speak. "No, I don't mind. I'll see you on Saturday then."

"After lunch?" she asked, her eyes gleaming now. With hope? He wasn't sure.

"After lunch," his voice said without his consent again and he could only stare after her when she left after this very short detention.

_**xx**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**xx**_

He always liked the ceiling in the Great Hall best when it was cloudy, white clouds, mingled with their grey sisters, high towers, deep valleys – fluffy – dangerous, piling on top of each other.

He had loved cloud-watching as a child – he remembered laying somewhere on his back, somewhere in the grass, trying to see if that particular cloud was a lamb or a fish. Or maybe a unicorn. Seeing how the clouds shifted shapes, how they changed, disappeared.

Of course, he had no such luck on the day that Potter was supposed to be at Hogwarts. Of course on such a day – it had to be a clear, sunny blue ceiling, no difference, always clear and blue – even though he knew that the sun hadn't quite the power any more – and that one needed a cloak outside (which he preferred to the sunny warmth on any day) – it made him frown when he saw it first that morning at breakfast.

Yes, certainly he did have enchanted windows in the dungeons – reflecting natural light – but he could manipulate them – and most days, they showed a cloudy mess of a sky.

It – well – suited his complexion at least.

But no, he strode into the Great Hall that morning, from the back way of course, up the stairs, through the corridor, up another set of stairs and in from the back door, and even though Minerva had forewarned him, he needed a moment, when he sat there. Already. And sat there on his seat. His seat!

He took a deep breath, made sure his scowl was firmly on his face, and making sure his robes were nicely billowing, he strode up to the table. He wouldn't of course, be able to take his usual seat – no, he had to sit there – but instead, he chose the first free one. The one most on the left – and three seats next to him were empty as well.

What did he care that he talked animatedly with McGonagall and Flitwick? He was certainly not ready for a hearty reunion. Not ever would he be ready for this.

He was glad that there was coffee in his cup almost instantly and a piece of buttered toast in front of him. He spared no single glance at the others who sat at the table and meticulously, put some marmalade on the toast – carefully smearing it in every corner. A piece of toast and coffee was all he needed, or could stomach in the morning – and he hoped that nobody paid any attention to him sitting there. There was no way in hell that he could stomach a Potter in the morning.

No, he would eat, he would get out, he would teach, he would skip lunch and then, probably, depending on the day, he would decide whether he would go up to the Great Hall and demand his seat at dinner. Not before breakfast. Usually, usually, everyone knew that it was his seat, his chair, his right to sit there – Potter – of course he didn't know and just claimed it. And he would claim it back – but not before breakfast.

He quietly finished up the rest of his toast and lifted the cup full of strong, black coffee to his lips (after which he could finally leave the blasted Great Hall), when he was startled by a piercing shriek coming from the other end of the Hall.

He looked up, the cup still in mid-air and groaned.

"Harry!" another shriek and a whirl of bushy brown curls and black robes ran towards the staff table.

He turned his head and Potter grinned madly, getting up and rushing towards his friend.

He finished up his cup of coffee and left – glad that there hadn't been any students (except three or four Ravenclaws) at breakfast yet. Though why Potter had been so early – and why he felt so compelled to leave so quickly after the two friends had embraced so happily, he wasn't sure.

And didn't care.

xx

"Harry!" she shrieked and within seconds, she was enclosed in the arms of her best friend, holding her tightly, holding him tightly. "I'm so glad you're here, I'm so glad."

"I'm glad to be here, too," he grinned in her hair and kissed her head affectionately, holding her tight.

She sighed and pulled away slightly, but kept her arms around him – just as he did around her.

"You okay, 'Mione?" he asked gently and she nodded.

"I miss Ron," she added softly.

"Oh 'Mione," he sighed.

"Oh 'Mione what?" she asked curiously, her eyebrows knitted together.

He shrugged and was just about to answer when there was another shriek and the two friends both looked towards the double doors of the Great Hall, breaking apart.

"Harry!" It was Ginny this time.

He smiled and turned away from Hermione (hitting her with his elbow in the process) to hug the red-head. "I didn't know you would be here so early. I thought you'd be here sometime during the afternoon."

"I had planned to," Harry replied, kissing her gently, "but I couldn't wait. I missed you."

Ginny smiled widely and took his hand. "I've missed you."

"Mh," he hummed and wrapped her tightly in her arms. "Tell me what's your schedule today? Anything special on this lovely Friday? Do you still have the afternoon off?"

"Shut it," Ginny said softly, just loud enough for Hermione to hear and silenced him effectively with what looked like a searing kiss.

Hermione knew when she wasn't needed (or wanted) and quietly retreated. It was insane to be jealous of them, she knew, but somehow, she couldn't help it. She did miss Ron, but oddly, she also missed parts of the old Harry. She wasn't insensitive or anything but he had just pushed her aside when she had come in. That hadn't happened before. She bit her lip.

'Don't be stupid, Hermione,' she told herself, 'she's his girlfriend. He'll propose soon probably. And you're just the friend. She's more important, you know that. And it's the way it should be. Just the way it should be. Would you act differently?'

Would she? She leant leant against a wall, her back securely against it, and worried her lip with her teeth again, hugging herself around the middle.

Would she?

'Concentrate, Granger,' she thought angrily and tried a scenario in her head.

Ron in the Great Hall, hugged by Harry. Or Ginny?. Mh. She would certainly want to embrace her boyfriend as well (no kiss though – public displays of affection? Not really, thank you very much) but then she would make them all sit down and talk (okay, maybe she would want to hold hands with Ron – and maybe, for a moment, go somewhere private with him and have a quick snog). But would she dismiss Harry or Ginny like that? Probably not.

Deep down, however, she knew that this was Ginny and Harry – and that was different from her and Ron. Even though, she couldn't quite put her finger on why that was.

Her feet, of her own accord, began to carry her somewhere and since she was so deeply immersed in thought, she didn't pay any attention to where she was going.

No, in all seriousness, she wasn't sure where she stood – was she hurt? Disappointed? Neutral? Jealous?

She settled on confused. She had hoped, sort of, to being able to talk to Harry for a while but the way Ginny acted – so possessively (could she understand that? No – she shrugged – no. Probably not. She would share Ron. To a certain degree, probably) – she was sure that this wouldn't be possible. She would have to write him – and maybe – no – as long as she and Ginny were both at Hogwarts, Harry would come for his girlfriend, not for her.

She sighed and wrapped her robes tighter around herself – still not caring where she was going. She had Transfiguration during the first two periods but that thought didn't even enter her mind.

No, she found herself stepping into a completely different classroom.

xx

"Miss Granger?" a startled voice asked her from the front of the classroom.

"Oh bloody bugger," she exclaimed, squinting. "How did I...?"

"It's Friday, Miss Granger. Not Monday. On Mondays, you would be right to be here, not on Fridays. And even on said Mondays, you'd be ridiculously early," Snape said softly from the front.

"I'm so sorry, sir. I'll just...I'll just go," she replied apologetically and turned to go.

"I would have thought you wanted to spent some time with Potter," he said suddenly – sharply.

She turned around and looked at him and wore the most pitiful expression on her face – for only a moment before she forced her façade back on. Smiling a little, or at least trying to. And yet, her eyes betrayed her – misty, brown, big eyes.

"Or don't you?" he continued to ask and with a motion of his hand, and a sharp nod, he made it clear that he wanted her to sit down. She did, albeit reluctantly, in the first row and put her elbows on the table, carefully avoiding any cauldrons.

"He's with Ginny," she explained softly.

"When I left breakfast, it was you squealing like a piglet in the Hall. Not Miss Weasley."

She smiled. A sad smile. A very, very sad smile. "Yes. But when she squealed like a piglet, I was yesterday's news, so to speak. I don't think they noticed I'm gone."

He nodded once and kept his gaze on her, sitting so huddled, so alone at the table.

"It's perfectly clear – I mean she's his girlfriend and I understand that they want to be together, I probably wouldn't do it any other way. I mean I understand, I really do. They don't see each other often and it's..."

"It was my perception that Miss Weasley decided just last Friday that her dalliance with Potter was more important than classes."

She shrugged. "I suppose so."

"A week is not a long time, Miss Granger. A month, yes, a year, yes. A week, no. But I suspect young Gryffindor lovers might think differently," he mocked.

"How would I know?" she muttered and realised her mistake almost immediately. Hermione Granger clapped her hand over her mouth and looked at him strangely. "I, erm, it's not, I mean, you know the..." She sighed and put her forehead on the table.

He blinked and bit the inside of his cheek. He had no experience with something like this. It was painfully clear that Hermione Granger was unhappy in her relationship with the Weasley boy – but she refused to acknowledge that apparently.

Plus the fact that her best friend (though he could certainly not understand how she could consider Potter her best friend) pushed her away for the sister of said, well, boyfriend (for the lack of a better word) was a situation he could most certainly understand. And somewhere, in the back of his head, buried deep underneath memories of other things, silver masks and dark cloaks and green lights, he remembered that feeling of pain.

That sort of pain that no wand, no fist, no weapon, muggle or wizard, could inflict. The sort of pain that tugged deep down, that threatened to swallow you whole, that consumed you, that could, contrary to physical pain, never be forgotten, that left scars that ran deeper than any on a body.

He remembered suddenly – and it made him bite the inside of his cheek harder, while she seemed to probably cry on the worktable. The movements of her back certainly indicated so.

He lifted his wand and spoke softly under his breath. A second or two later, a cup of tea was in his hand and he got up.

Tea did help. It always did.

"Here," he said and put the cup in front of the mop of bushy hair and was met, a moment later, by a pair of wet, teary, brown eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered rawly and cradled the cup between her hands.

He merely nodded and leaned against the table. And couldn't think of anything to say.

_**xx**_


	14. Chapter 14

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

She sniffed once – quickly, pulled a clean, white handkerchief from her pocket and blew her nose.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I don't mean to be blabbing like this. It's..."

He nodded – smirking slightly.

"Erm, quite. Alright", she looked stunned.

He still smirked but glanced at her teacup. "More tea?"

She shook her head. "Erm – can, I mean, may I come down here this afternoon?"

"Why, may I ask, Miss Granger?"

She bit the side of her lip, pulled it between her teeth and let it slide out slowly. "I just thought. Oh whatever, I mean, I'm a Gryffindor, right?" she paused and awaited his smirk to grow. It did. Almost on command. "It feels nice down here. It's peaceful."

"Nice?" he questioned, good-naturedly and she looked up almost startled at the tone of his voice. It was still raspy and sounded as if he had had a severe cold for a few days and was just on his way to get better, but it was gentle. Friendly. Soft. "Peaceful? Miss Granger, I hate to disappoint you, but it's a _dungeon_."

She cracked a little smile, "I know it's a _dungeon_, sir. But listen to this."

Snape arched his left eyebrow elegantly, "Listen to what precisely?"

"This. Nothing. It's so silent. It's serene. Compare this to the other corridors, no, even the library. Or especially our common or my dormitory. You can't hear yourself think."

"Once more, Miss Granger, it's a dungeon. The only sound you'd expect to hear are screams. And if you want to hear them, you'll have to wait until my first class begins."

Her eyes glazed over for a moment, then – suddenly, she couldn't hold back on her giggle. And it took her a moment to get her control back – and that was quite soothing – the giggling. When was the last time she had done that? She didn't really remember but it felt good, perfect. She lay her cheek on the table and just giggled, laughed. Tears were even running down her cheeks once more – but they were not the tears she had shed minutes earlier.

xx

She laughed. She actually laughed.

And he had only said what most people thought.

And she laughed.

"Miss Granger," he began – trying to sound annoyed at first. It worked – to a certain extent. But when she didn't stop and she began to cry again (he had, naturally heard of the concept of laughing until one cried but he had never really seen it – except once, when Madam Hooch had indulged in too much liquor at one Christmas party years ago and had begun to laugh when he had made a mistletoe explode until she actually ended up on the floor, holding her stomach and crying – but never had someone done it so close to him – and without inebriation.

"Miss Granger, please compose yourself," he said, sterner this time and drawing himself up to full length in front of her (though the table was still between them).

"I'm sorry, sir," she gurgled between giggles, wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her robes, "I just found this suddenly so funny. As if someone would dare to scream during your lessons." She still giggled and wiped her eyes alternately.

He grumbled inwardly – and rolled his eyes. "It wasn't that funny."

She looked up and shook her head. "You made me laugh, Professor Snape. And I thank you for that. I needed it."

He nodded curtly and she knew somehow, that she was dismissed. There were even faint voices outside and she didn't really want to be found down there – an empty cup of tea in front of her.

"Thank you, Professor," she said softly, handed him the cup and the saucer and he merely took it, nodded and vanished it.

"I'll see you this afternoon then," she smiled and was off, rushing out of the room.

This afternoon? He didn't remember agreeing to it – and he certainly had other things to do. Granted, it was only grading but still – he would sent her away. Probably.

He shook his head to himself – basically tried to shake himself out of his thoughts before his first years arrived. But it was still odd. Very, very odd. He had talked almost normally to her. He had never had a normal conversation with a student before. And he certainly had not make a student laugh. At least not on purpose.

He knew they laughed behind his back about him (which teacher didn't know that?) but whenever he was near, they kept silent, or at least didn't openly laugh about him. They wouldn't dare. And laugh because of something he had said – no, that was a first. Not even the Slytherins had ever done it. No single student. Ever. Expect her. On that bizarre morning.

And Severus Snape wasn't sure how he felt about this. But he knew that she began to trust him. And maybe, maybe he would have to encourage her further to talk, confide in him. In some way.

And probably, the fact that she was coming back on that afternoon wasn't too bad.

xx

She went to classes, surprised, she had to admit, that Ginny was there as well, and no sight of Harry. It was Luna, next to her, once more, in Transfiguration, who whispered in her ear that he had gone to Hogsmeade until lunch – and would then spent the afternoon with them at the castle. Only, Hermione wasn't sure she wanted that. She certainly didn't want to be pushed away again.

Probably, she would just try and talk to him briefly during lunch – then go down the dungeons again, and probably talk a bit during dinner. She wasn't sure.

She was quite absent, mentally, during Transfiguration (McGonagall, who hadn't found a substitute for herself quite yet, had more than once looked at her sternly), and neither during Defence against the Dark Arts (taught by a teacher called Goodwill – an absolute flop if she would be asked) nor during Arithmancy. She knew it was wrong not to pay attention but she couldn't help it.

She was embarrassed. Naturally. She had just forced herself on Professor Snape of all people, he had given her tea (Orange Pekoe, if she wasn't mistaken) and he had made her laugh. He had made a joke. And he had almost smiled at her. He had been nice and she suspected that he hadn't minded her talking as much as he had pretended.

Hadn't he almost encouraged her?

Her feet carried her, following Luna, down to the Great Hall for lunch – a sandwich would be sufficient – and since she had no afternoon classes, she could check when Professor Snape left the Hall and could, after a bit of time, follow him. Maybe he would let her brew something on her own – something simple. Or maybe, he would talk to her. Or let her talk.

No. No, that thought was just wrong. He wouldn't, would he?

But maybe, he was the only one who could understand. After all, he suffered from the same problems, physically, of course. Maybe, she could trust him.

But what would she tell him? 'Hello Professor, I don't love Ron but I feel that I have to marry him?'

'No,' she told herself. 'You love Ron. And you want to marry him.'

Hermione Granger took her seat and didn't notice that Harry sat down next to her almost immediately. He put a hand on her shoulder and she jumped.

"Harry," she breathed, "you scared me."

"You were way out of there, 'Mione," he said gently and patted her on the shoulder. "Thought about anything special?"

She shook her head. "Not really. I was just thinking about the classes this morning and what additional reading I have to do," she fibbed.

He laughed. "I missed that," he said softly.

She smiled at him. "I missed y..."

"Harry, have you seen this?" Ginny pressed herself between Harry and Hermione and flopped down, handing Harry a bit of newspaper.

"Ginny, you know that I don't read that filth," he muttered, grumbling at the Daily Prophet she had shoved in his hand.

"Just read this," she rolled her eyes. "It's you."

"It's always Harry or Ron on the front page," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"Jealous?" Ginny asked, gleaming at her.

"Sure," she replied sarcastically.

"That's not true," Harry groaned. "Potter visits Hogwarts! Conferring with Headmistress over Ministership?"

Hermione grinned. "Harry, you? Minister of Magic?"

"Why not?" Ginny glared. "He could do that."

"I couldn't," Harry argued. "And why should I?"

"Read the article," Ginny huffed and bit into a sandwich.

There was silence between them – Hermione knew that most of the students were used to the fact that Harry Potter sat at the Gryffindor table – only the first and second years had never seen him there but he was, after all, the so-called saviour of the wizarding world, and he drew many glances to himself.

Hermione knew that if she hadn't really gone back to Hogwarts, she would have been treated the same way Harry was now. Only the fact that she had, without any troubles and qualms, gone back to being a normal student, saved her from this. And why should she be treated differently? Many of those who sat now in the Hall had somehow fought in the war – in one way or another. And even the first and second years – who, at the beginning, had watched her with curiosity, got used to her being there and most of the time, she was just Hermione Granger, seventh year, NEWT student.

"That is utter crap!" Harry exclaimed and banged the newspaper on the table. "Who told them that?"

Hermione, for the second time within five minutes, jumped.

Ginny, who had blanched slightly, looked at him and then, suddenly, her face was growing redder.

She snatched the paper up and skimmed the article.

_Harry Potter, beloved victor over he-who-must-not-be-named, has returned to Hogwarts. Allegedly, he is making plans with Headmistress McGonagall to be the next Minister of Magic. The Minister in the interim, Kingsley Shacklebolt refuses a statement but according to sources close to Harry, he-who-rid-us-from-you-know-who explained to one of our staff that he wishes to continue to serve our community by running for the Ministership. _

Hermione glanced over Ginny's head at Harry, who was, in turn, glaring at Ginny.

"You know I don't want that," he hissed. "Who talked?"

Ginny shrugged, and she could see that the younger girl was just beginning to fume – though why was beyond her understanding. It was clear that Harry didn't want the limelight. Was that...no. Did she? Ginny? Did she want that?

"I didn't talk. But it's clear that you'll be Minister anyway one day so why not do it now?" Ginny argued.

"Are you serious?" Hermione couldn't hold back. "Harry as Minister? Harry?" She laughed.

"Keep out of it," Ginny said threateningly. "It's none of your business. Of course he will be Minister."

The argument grew in volume – but only Ginny's parts of it. "He wants to be Minister. He saved us all. If it hadn't been for him, you'd be still in Malfoy Manor. Or your wand would have been snapped years ago. Who was it that killed you-know-who?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione was dumbstruck. "I..."

"You can't even find your family," the red-head very nearly yelled. "And they say you're a brilliant witch."

"Ginny," Harry said viciously, "that's unfair."

"Unfair? She probably wants you to get a quiet office job somewhere. Or maybe she wants you to teach here. It's not what you were made to do."

"Not what he was made to do? What is he made to do?" Hermione got up and had her hand on her wand – ready to hex the girl.

"He's made to be Minister. Don't you know?" Ginny got up as well and had her wand drawn.

Harry – at the same time – got up as well and tried to stand between the two witches but both moved out of his way.

"No, I don't know. You don't know him, Ginny. You only see what you want to see. He always wanted to be just Harry. Do you think that's changed? Do you think he likes being paraded around? Do you think he likes being on the front page of that sodding paper every day? Twice every day?"

"Don't you dare tell me you know what my fiancé wants," Ginny shoued.

"Fiancé?" Hermione paled and lowered her wand in shock. "Harry?"

"Fiancé?" Harry asked a moment later. "I'm not your fiancé."

Ginny blushed even worse and wanted to stomp from the Hall but Harry held her by her robes. "Did you do this?" he asked pointing at the Daily Prophet.

Hermione, sat down again and, for the first time, took a moment to look around – and yes, every single pair of eyes was on them. No, not quite. Professor Snape was quietly eating and drinking. Obviously listening raptly but not looking and for a moment, she had to smile to herself. Of course the man pretended to be not interested. And, if she was lucky, or unlucky, depending, she would hear him that afternoon talking about how they always wanted the attention – only, now he saw (or she hoped so – and if he didn't, that she could try to persuade him to see it that way) that it wasn't Harry's fault.

Ginny – loudly – huffed.

"Did you?" Harry asked again, glaring at her.

The Weasley shrugged. "Not explicitly."

"Not explicitly? Not explicitly? Are you insane? Is it true what you're saying? Do you want me to be Minister?"

"Of course I want you to be Minister," she tried to soothe him, noticing that his temper was flaring. "You'll be perfect for the job, baby."

Harry shook his head unbelievingly. "You know I don't want that. How often have we talked about what I want? How often have you agreed?"

Ginny shook his head. "I didn't think you were serious. A house in Godric's Hollow and children? Do I look like my mother? You were meant for bigger things, Harry. We are meant for bigger things. We all know that. The wizarding world needs you and your leadership."

"Leadership?" Harry asked stunned. "Leadership? I don't want no leadership."

Hermione looked around once more. The end of something, obviously, and Severus Snape still concentrated on eating. She herself was torn between wanting to go and wanting to witness this.

Ginny shook her head swiftly and, staring at Harry for a moment, ran from the Great Hall.

"Harry?" Hermione asked carefully and tugged on his sleeve.

He was very pale and let her pull him down on the bench next to her. "I can't believe this."

"Oh Harry," she said softly. "She'll get used to it. She loves you."

He shook his head sadly. "Are you sure of that?"

She shrugged and pulled him gently in her arms. She couldn't think of anything to say.

"Miss Granger, five points from Gryffindor for this behaviour and detention this afternoon. I expect you in fifteen minutes in my office."

She looked up and sure enough, Professor Snape had stopped eating and was standing right in front of her and Harry. He bent down slightly. "Mister Potter can join you if he likes," he added and was off.

_**xx**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

xx

"Five points, Hermione?" Harry hissed, tugging on her sleeve.

She nodded and smiled.

"Care to explain?" he asked again and again, when she shook her head.

"Listen, Harry, I can't explain. I don't know. He's been nice to me, well, his version of nice, for the last week. I earned detention the entire week, so this afternoon is actually nothing special. Especially when you think that I wanted to go down there anyway after lunch..."

"Why would you want to do that?" he asked curiously, waiting for the stairways to swing their way.

She sighed and pinched his arm. "Because, I don't know, but because he lets me work on potions. Well, one potion actually..."

"What potion?"

Hermione, naturally, hesitated. She hadn't told anyone about the tremors, really. She hid them, usually pulled her sleeves over her hands whenever she could and knew when to sit down. And she usually did that. She had managed during the summer – since the tremors weren't that bad (because the weather hadn't changed that often). Actually, the only person who really knew was Professor Snape. And she wasn't sure she wanted anyone to know. If the potion worked (and it would), then nobody would have to know. But why wouldn't she want to tell Harry? He was her best friend after all – why then not?

Oh right – because she hadn't wanted to seem weak before the battle and after the battle. Because she knew her strength was needed. And telling him now was kind of too late.

"Why did you come here?" she asked instead.

He rolled his eyes at her and stepped onto the stairways. "Actually, I only wanted to see you and Ginny."

"Oh," she looked at him and took his arm. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head sadly. "I don't know. Since we're back together, she changed. I thought it would go away if I talked to her long enough. Even Ron said she was getting horribly ambitious. Even during the summer...I mean, she talked constantly about the fact that I didn't really have to do auror training, that I could get any position I'd like without having to do it..."

"Which you don't want," Hermione interjected.

"Which I don't want, no. I think she was projecting something on me and probably on her that's not there. I don't want to be fam..."

"I know," she interrupted and took his hand as they got off the stairway. "I know, Harry."

"But she doesn't. Why doesn't she? I've had it. Every bloody day I'm in the newspaper. I can't go out of the house without a reporter and a photographer standing there. It's like I'm hunted by paparazzi."

She chortled. "My my, keeping up with the muggle references."

He stopped suddenly and held her by her hand, stopping her. He looked at her, swallowed and grasped her other hand as well. He held both her hands, intertwined their fingers and wet his lips quickly. "I've been thinking about living there."

"In the muggle world? Harry, that's..."

He shrugged. "If that continues, I, Hermione, have you read some of the headlines?"

She shook her head. "I don't read the Daily Prophet anymore. I subscribed to the paper that Angelina Johnson's father started after the...well, you know."

"The Wizard News Daily?"

She nodded. "It's more like a broadsheet, you know? I always thought of the Daily Prophet in terms of a tabloid," she grinned.

He smiled a little weakly. "Yep. Sort of, isn't it?"

"So, to answer your question, I haven't seen any headlines about you."

"I went to the hospital with Neville last week. You know, to see his parents. He asked me to go with him and since I haven't seen them in the longest time, I just said yes. It was my afternoon off and...well, we went there and I knew there were reporters and photographers and the entire bunch and the next day, there's an article about me being a saint that cares for those who've been injured in the war."

She shrugged. "That's not bad, is it?"

"No, it's not bad. But I'm no bloody saint. It's the same every day. Hell, I could try and rob Gringotts and they would celebrate me."

"Technically," she bit her lip, "we did try and rob Gringotts and you were already celebrated."

He rolled his eyes and disentangled their hands and began to walk again, "Haha. Very funny."

"Look," she followed him quickly, "it was a bad joke and I apologise but maybe it'll die down."

"Not if there are people around who will talk to those people. And if Ginny talked to them..."

She hummed in agreement. "Have you thought about coming back here?"

"And draw the eyes here? I couldn't do that to this school. You saw what happened today. I came here because I have the day off and I asked McGonagall..."

"Professor McGonagall," she corrected him softly.

"Professor McGonagall if I could come here to see you and Ginny and Luna and everyone and, well, go down to Dum...Professor Dumbledore and she said yes and suddenly, I'm here to discuss the fact that I'll be the next Minister. I'm not. I'll never be Minister."

"We all know that."

"Apparently not," he grew louder, "I'm not the saviour of this or any other world. I did what I had to do and I'm sick of it. I don't want to do anything that I have to do. I want to do what I want to do. And yes, Hermione, yes, I want to live in anonymity. I want to have my circle of friends, I want a family and I want to live in peace. I don't want to be in the paper every day," he fumed.

Hermione sighed. "It's not going to be simple. Even if you're not the saviour, and you did kill Voldemort, you're still a hero."

"You're a hero," his temper was high up and his tones were echoing along the walls, "Neville's a hero, Ron's a hero and yes, he's in the paper because he's my best friend, Luna is a hero, Snape's a bigger hero than me, he did so much more than I did," he shouted the last words. "And he's never in the paper."

"I said the only sounds in the dungeons were screams, not shouts," apparently, Severus Snape had just opened the door to his office, and looked at the two of them disapprovingly. "And I'd quite like to keep it that way."

xx

A bigger hero than him? Did more than he did? Not wanting to be in the limelight? Not wanting the attention?

Potter had grown up. Or was mentally challenged. Or incapacitated. Or not Potter.

And yes, he had heard most of the conversation. He had walked just in front of them – in the shadows and disillusioned. But Potter having trouble like that? That wasn't what he had expected. Going to live in the muggle world? No – no.

But of course it was all about him and he didn't even ask about Granger. And yet, to be frank and honest, she had dodged the question about the potion. Good for her. If she had told – he knew a few very nice torture methods. But she hadn't. Instead, she had focused on him – completely. Had tried to get him to talk. And hadn't talked about herself (except the newspaper-bit – that he had known already) but had listened to him.

Obviously, he could learn something from her – and well, it hurt to admit it – how to make her talk. He would try it.

But first – Potter. And he had a feeling that he wouldn't get out of this talk now. And maybe...no. No, it wouldn't turn out differently.

He just had a fight with the Weasley girl and was probably quite confused.

"Inside. Now," he snarled and with a bit of wandless magic had undone the wards on his door.

Both Potter and Hermione Granger had the look of very young school children who were caught doing something forbidden on their faces. First years, probably. Second years at the latest and he found himself greatly amused by this, especially considering that Potter wasn't even a student any more and that he had spent more time with Hermione Granger during that week than with anyone else.

He breathed deeply and waited until they were both inside before he closed the door to his office.

Nervous – him? Because of talking to Potter? No. Anticipating what he had to say? No. Curious? A little. A smidgeon. Surprised at hearing him say such thing? Certainly.

"Miss Granger would you please stir the potion 45 times clockwise?" he looked at her directly.

She nodded apparently understandingly. And maybe she was understanding. Maybe she knew that Potter had something to say to him.

The great apology-speech of 1998. He would listen.

But he would not, under any circumstances refrain from making snide, sarcastic comments.

Hermione Granger disappeared through the door from his office to the classroom and left Potter standing in the middle of the office.

"Take a seat, Potter," he said sharply.

"Erm..." he replied, looking around for a chair to drag up to the desk and Severus felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Of course there was no chair. But the way Potter looked around – so confused – was worth it.

"Oh well," he simply said and conjured a chair, motioning towards it.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," Potter said softly.

"The headmistress let me know that you wanted to," he paused, "_talk_."

"I certainly do," he replied, his voice growing in strength. "I, erm..."

He rolled his eyes and arched an eyebrow before he lifted his wand towards a wall at the other side of his office and a second later, two cups and a teapot sailed through the air.

"Erm," Potter seemed surprised by his gesture with the tea – and had seemed to lost his voice for a moment.

"Yes, Potter?" he asked, trying to make his voice sound as silky as it once had been but failed. Damn snake, damn, damn snake. Damn first years this morning that required him to talk so much. Well, not as much as some other teachers talked during classes but more than usual.

He poured two cups of tea and waited more or less patiently.

"I, erm," he looked in his eyes and he was most assuredly tempted to use Legilimency – but did not. Though why, he wasn't sure. Probably because he wanted to hear from Potter what he wanted to say – and not see it beforehand. Or maybe he had seen enough of the images students had from him for that day. Who knew exactly?

And well – that thought alone shocked him to a certain degree. Since when didn't he know exactly why he was doing what?

Oh well.

"Yes?" no, the voice was too raspy. Too deep and too raspy.

"I wanted to apologise," Potter said rapidly. "I, erm, that's what I wanted to say. I don't expect you to forgive me and I'm not sure I'll ever forgive you for being such a git...oh. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's a Gryffindor trait," he replied smoothly. "And believe it or not, I know what you think of me."

"No, you don't. I mean, I believe that you know what I thought of you. But not what I think of you and it's not important, it's just that, erm, I mean, the war, and Kings Cross and your memories and seeing my mum..."

"Don't ever mention those memories again."

Potter blushed and looked at his shoes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up. I know it must be difficult for you and I mean, I said what I wanted to say. And that is that I apologise. For not believing you, for not believing Professor Dumbledore. I should have trusted him and I should have trusted you. If I had know what..."

He lifted a hand and effectively shut up Potter. "I acknowledge your apology, Potter," he said simply and brought the teacup up to his lips and took a sip. Good tea.

"Thank you," he said and mirrored him. "That's good tea."

He nodded sharply but said nothing. Waiting if he had something else to say. But he fell silent as well – at least for a while.

"Professor Snape, I was a brat."

He raised both his eyebrows and pondered for a moment on what to say. "I wouldn't argue with that."

He chuckled and seemed relieved. "That's good to know. I should have never entered the pensieve. I was young and I only now realise that I might have been acting like my father around you. I mean..."

"You didn't," Severus said softly and a split second later, hoped – against hope – that he hadn't been heard. But no such luck. Potter stared, wide-eyed and those green eyes gleamed and reminded him painfully of – well.

"I think I did. But don't get me wrong, I'm not taking all of the blame, I mean, I always felt I had to change to do something right in your books and probably I haven't but I'm no student any more and I do," he sighed. "I want to be honest, Professor Snape."

"By all means," he replied – trying to sound sharp, but somehow failing. Somehow, it didn't work.

"You're the only one left. I know you hated my father and you had probably good reason. But I don't want to apologise for the mistakes my father made. I'm not responsible for them. But you liked, loved, maybe, my mother and there's nobody left who knew her as well as you do."

He nodded – and this one came sharply. "Professor McGonagall."

"Excuse me?"

"She knew your mother well," he explained.

"It's not the same. Seriously, I mean ask her about me and ask Hermione about me and they might as well describe two different persons."

"You apologise because you want to hear from me about your mother?"

Potter shook his head quickly. "No, of course not. Because I was wrong. I apologise because I know I was wrong in my judgement but, erm, I grew up during the war and I understood that many things I said and did were wrong. But there were many circumstances surrounding me growing up and, look, I'm not looking for excuses, merely stating facts. You knew how it was – pulled from all sides and being afraid and having to face him and knowing that I would probably not survive and I realise that you might have been thinking the same thing and I saw, well, you know what I saw and I didn't have the respect for you I should have had. Not as a spy or laying your life on the line for us, for me, especially, and for the cause but respect as a grown up, a teacher, someone who knew what he was talking about. And I think that maybe, had I been a little more, how should I put this, erm, respectful towards you, it might have been different. I might have learned Occlumency and I might not have been responsible for Sirius's...and you know, and it's my fault and the fact that I didn't respect you and..." he said all this rapidly, then stopped abruptly. "You're not making this any easier for me, are you, Professor?"

He smirked evilly. "Should I, Mister Potter?"

He exhaled slowly, then took another sip before he shook his head. "Probably not."

"Probably not, no. Potter, many things can be excused by, shall we call it, youthfulness. Some, are not."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. I'm sure you can grasp it. In time."

xx

It certainly wasn't easy getting this man to say anything nice. Or getting this man to say anything. Or getting him to admit to a bit of fault on his part as well. No, of course Professor Severus Snape would never admit anything like this. But McGonagall had warned him that it would be like it.

Still, he hadn't imagined it being this hard. Stealing a golden egg from a female dragon was simpler. But, until that moment, he realised that he had quite forgotten about Ginny.

She, though, had thought it was a rotten idea to try and talk to the Potions Master. No, she had said, 'Are you out of your bleedin' mind, wanting to talk to the git?'

But Ginny – as did basically all of the Weasleys, still held a grudge against him. George, especially, he knew. And Ron, of course. Ron wasn't someone who forgave easily and that was a trait he shared with his entire family. And it seemed, with Professor Snape.

Still, he had come for two things. One, he had managed. He had apologised. The second would be infinitely harder. But so what? More than laughing at him and throwing him out wouldn't happen.

And maybe it was worth it – especially since he could listen to Severus Snape laugh once. He had never heard that.

"I'd quite like to invite you to dinner," he said quickly.

"Excuse me, Potter?"

"A dinner. We could just – erm, try and talk."

He smirked. "I'm sorry to say it, Potter, but even though you do have your mother's eyes, you are not my type."

He blushed deeply. And blushed some more. Then some more. He didn't know he could blush that much. Or that anyone could blush that much.

"I-I d-d-d-didn't mean that," he stuttered. He had never stuttered in his life. Not really. Not like that.

Snape continued to smirk and it wasn't quite as malicious. And all out of a sudden, it hit him. He had make a joke. A joke.

"Embarrassed, Potter?" he sneered.

Harry got his blush under control and only his cheeks felt a bit hot – compared to the uncomfortable hotness he had felt all over his body just seconds before.

"No, of course not," he lied.

"Don't lie. I could always tell if you did," he remarked.

"Oh," he exclaimed suddenly and pointed at his forehead. "Just look. I mean, I'm not lying about the..."

"I don't have to look," he put an emphasis on the last word, "it's written all over your face, Potter."

Harry nodded – and a moment later, his eyes were drawn to the door.

"May I?" Hermione peeked in and smiled.

"It still is your detention, Miss Granger," Snape replied smoothly and conjured a second chair and a third cup.

"Detention?" she asked – grinningly, pointing at the teacup.

"Yes. You finish this tea, then make a batch of pepper-up. Without the help of Potter. I suppose he has something to patch up and he would ruin the potion anyway."

"You haven't answered my question yet," Harry asked curiously.

xx

"What question?" Hermione asked.

"Potter here asked me out," Professor Snape sneered.

"What?"

"So?" Harry asked again.

"I'll let you know," he replied.

She shook her head. Harry had asked him out? And she would have to brew for detention? That was unheard of. Certainly in her world. And what had the two of them talked about.

"Do you think there's a possibility that I may take Hermione out for dinner tonight?"

"I suggest you ask the headmistress," he nodded. "But she will be finished by then."

"Thank you," Harry grinned and, pressing a kiss on Hermione's cheek and with a nod towards Professor Snape, he was off.

And all that was left for her to do was to stare at him incredulously, finish her tea and prepare the brewing.

_**xx**_


	16. Chapter 16

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

"He's a good person," she said suddenly as she stirred in the almost finished pepper-up potion.

He grumbled almost next to her, brewing himself.

"No, really. I know you listen to the racket in the Great Hall and I know you still think that Harry's probably attention-seeking but he's not. He wants a wife, a house, a white fence around it, a garden, children, pets for the children. He doesn't want to be on the front page of that bloody newspaper every day..."

"Language, Miss Granger," he admonished softly.

"You know what I mean," she looked up and at him in earnest. "Ginny is the one who does. Though I'm not sure why and when."

He arched an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the cauldron. He couldn't take them off now – it was a crucial state of the brewing after all. "Miss Granger, I am unsure why you say all this and frankly, I do not want to know."

"Professor Snape," she began tentatively after a moment, "he's lost all the grown-ups, all the adults that he really looked up to in the war. Every single role-model he had is, well, gone. I know I speak bluntly but he's only 18. I mean he hasn't spoken to me about it, but I gather that he can relate to you."

"Relate to me?" he interrupted sharply.

"Yes. And please don't get angry at me for trying to make this clear," she waited for a moment and when he made a more or less non-committal sound, she continued, "he saw the memories you gave him back, well, you know where, no need to spell it out, and ever since then, he speaks so highly of you."

He made a sound that came close to a snort but wasn't actually one. Or maybe it was.

"No, he really does. Just before we got down here, he was ranting, yes, but, he said that, if there are heroes in the war, and if they should be celebrated, you should be celebrated more. Because you did more."

He was slightly amused by the way she twisted his words around – without actually changing the meaning and after a moment's consideration, he put the stirring rod aside and waved his wand over the potion.

"And?" he asked, seemingly impatiently.

"He's decided that you're now the person to look up to."

"Excuse me?" he was close to stuttering, or maybe fainting. Or maybe he had just got hit in the head with a blunt instrument and didn't remember. Or someone had hexed him – no, he would have noticed it.

She smiled softly. "Look at the evidence. Not many things leaked out from what he said to Voldem..." she stopped he she saw his face, "okay, you-know-who but what was printed and on the wireless was the fact that you did all this because of Harry's mother."

He sighed dramatically. "I didn't do all this because of Harry's mother," he replied testily.

"Mh?"

"What, mh? Form a sentence, girl," he snarled.

She seemed to think for a moment, "Okay, not _all_ because of his mother. But that was how it was printed. The tall, dark, lean, erm, handsome, mystical, secretive Romantic hero. Heathcliff, or maybe Rochester."

"Heatcliff? Rochester?"

"Yes, erm, Jane Ey..."

"I know who you mean. I did grow up with a muggle father after all," he retorted.

"Yes, erm, quite and that was what they wrote," she blushed a bit, "not that they would have used those names or references but well, you know what I mean then. That was your standing with the Daily Prophet for the first few weeks after the war."

"I have no recollection of that time," he said quietly.

"I know," she smiled encouragingly. "I know Poppy Pomfrey kept you here. She was, well, quite distressed."

He raised a questioning eyebrow and waited for her to continue.

"They all were. We all were. So, we're in the middle of the battle and Harry comes in, announcing that you were never Vol...his but Dumbledore's. That you did it for his mother. And those words from Harry. Everyone believes Harry everything."

"I don't," he replied.

Hermione grimaced as if in pain. "Yes, I know you don't. But maybe that's just it – he doesn't want all that adoration. And from you, he gets nothing but honesty. Look, even his girlfriend rebuilds his persona in her head – they all do. Except you."

He stared incredulously. "What are you saying? That I _befriend_ Harry Potter?"

"With all due respect, Professor," she grinned, "_befriend_ is not a dirty word. And no, I'm not saying that, but give him a chance, please. It's – no – the way I see it is that, with Ronald playing quidditch and Ginny and me being here, and those he really wanted to be close to dead, I think he's a bit lonely."

She lifted her hand when he wanted to say something. "No, he doesn't have a lot of friends. He's frightened of people who might, you know, talk. He trusted Ginny. He trusted her not to go to the Prophet and sell secrets. He knows that you will not go telling everyone that he has a dragon tattooed on his chest."

"He has?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No. But that's beside the point, it's..."

He silenced her with a nod and a gesture. "I know what the point is, Miss Granger."

"Yes," she sighed, "and now you're going to tell me that it's your business and that my nose should not be in it."

He smirked. "Exactly. And that that you go to the apothecary in Hogsmeade this evening and bring back lavender roots, flobberworms and a small pack of crushed dodo-feathers. Have it charge to my account."

"What?" she exclaimed but he had already gotten up and scribbled something on his desk. He looked up, his eyebrow, once more, raised, and after a moment, handed her a piece of parchment.

"For your detention on Monday," he explained.

She looked down at the note in her hands.

_Miss Hermione Granger, Gryffindor House has failed to complete detention with me, Professor Severus Snape and needs to acquire the following ingredients for her forthcoming detention: lavender roots, flobberworms and a small pack of crushed dodo-feathers. Due to her age, she does not need supervision and has to dig out the lavender roots by herself. She's allowed to return to the castle as late as 10 pm._

_S. Snape, M.A.P._

Surprised, she glanced at him but he merely waved it off.

"Go, Miss Granger. I'm sure Mister Potter will not mind accompanying you this time."

She said a profound thanks, half of which he didn't hear. Not that he didn't care, it was nice to see a Gryffindor thanking him like this but there were so many things on his mind.

No, really, he had to wrap his mind around the fact that Potter – Potter had apologised. Not for the things his father and his friends had done, no, but truthfully, he hadn't expected that. Potter had spoken like an adult. A reasonable, sensible adult. Someone who knew that they had made a mistake and who was seeking to correct them.

Mistakes in his youth.

He sat heavily down on the chair at his desk and stapled his fingers on the top together, frowning.

Mistakes in his youth.

Potter had even been younger than himself when he had made those mistakes. One mistake with his mother, actually, and the woman had never forgiven him.

He remembered the sharp twist of the metaphorical knife when she hadn't spoken to him – when she hadn't forgiven him.

He exhaled sharply. Yes. He was better than that. He would try his best to forgive. If Potter had grown up, so would he.

Or he would at least try.

And he would try and do something about the fact that he couldn't get her beaming smile out of his head. As if it was branded into his retina. Appearing whenever he closed his eyes.

xx

"Harry!" she shouted, running down the hill towards Hagrid's hut.

"'ello 'ermione," the gentle half-giant who was bent over some of his massive pumpkins got up and greeted her with a smile.

"Hagrid, hi," she smiled, "Harry?"

"I'm here," he replied, also getting up from somewhere in the pumpkin patch. "We were weeding."

"Weeding?" she laughed. "Are you a wizard or not?"

"Very soothin', weedin' is," Hagrid replied honestly.

"That it is," Harry added and smiled at her, a bit of dirt on his cheek. She shook her head and went over to him, rubbing the dirt away with her thumb.

"I'm allowed to go to Hogsmeade tonight with you," she blurted.

"Really?"

"Yes, Professor Snape wrote me a note and...oh well, do you think we can go?" she asked, glancing carefully at Hagrid. "Sorry, Hagrid."

"Aww, nonsense, 'ermione, 'arry will come back later, eh?"

Harry grinned and pulled his friend with him, giving Hagrid a wave. "I'm staying at Hagrid's the night."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "I could apparate back. To Grimmauld Place. Where there will be press people again – or, I stay here, and have a bit of peace."

"What about your father's cloak, Harry?" she asked gently, keeping up with his pace, walking briskly up to the gates of Hogwarts.

"Forgot it at home," he shrugged. "But I can't spend my life under the cloak, can I?"

"Well, you could," she replied ironically, "or you could use it to create diversions, you know, not go out in the morning and come back unexpected."

"I do that by apparating," he replied. "and it's all bullocks."

"Harry!"

He laughed. "Sorry."

xx

He knew she waited for him to tell her – and he probably would. But for now, he was simply fascinated that Snape had written a note – had allowed her to go out like this. And had talked to him as if he was a normal person.

"He likes you," he said suddenly just as they had passed through the gates.

"Who?"

"Snape," he said in a tone that implied that she should have known that.

"Oh come on," she replied, staring at him. "I know your meeting with him probably didn't go that well but to make such j..."

"No," he said suddenly, stopping her, "our talk went quite well, and this is not what I meant."

"What do you mean then?" she asked impatiently.

"The tea, the look on his face."

"You can never tell anything by the look on Snape's face, Harry," she shook her head. "Now I know you're taking the mickey."

"I'm not, I'm not, I swear," he cried. "True, usually, his face is the stony, cold, bastard mask. I give you that, but there was one tiny, tiny moment when you opened the door and came out again."

"You looked in my direction."

He shook his head. "I did not. I looked in your direction when I noticed his face. It was really only one moment. Blink and you would have missed it but for this one split second, I thought that he looked like the sun had just come up or something."

She huffed. "That's idiotic. Snape would never do something like that. And besides, you're only saying this so I don't ask you about Ginny."

"Go and ask me about Ginny," he said earnestly. "But I'm not taking it back what I said. And writing a note to let you go to Hogsmeade," he snorted. "He likes you."

Hermione rolled her eyes and decided to let it rest. "So? What about Ginny?"

He stopped just in front of the Three Broomsticks, then pulled her with him – keeping on walking. He took a while to answer. "As of today, Ginny is history," he declared solemnly.

"No."

He nodded and kicked a little pebble with his shoe. "History. She's not in love with me but with the-boy-who-lived. And let me tell you, those are two completely different people."

Hermione sighed and took his arm. "And you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, are you okay?"

He shook his head. "This day's getting too much for me, 'Mione," he said softly and hung his head.

xx

He paced – once more, in his private quarters. From the four poster to the wardrobe, from there to the living room, the large table in there surrounded by eight chairs – and why the hell did he need such a large table anyway? It was not like he was flooded by visitors), once around the table, to the large, burgundy armchair, to his bookcase, to the other bookcase, to the shelves (stuffed with, yes, books), to the cabinet (devoid of any liquor), and in long strides back to his four poster. Then, he would start again.

He didn't care what time it was or that his owl was sitting hungrily on the back of one of the eight chairs, no mail on him but a soft hoot on his beak, little, furrowed brows (well, it did look like it once someone looked closer) or that he had paced for more than forty-five rounds before he even realised he was really doing it.

"I'll just say yes, right?" he asked the owl, then began, once more, his walk to the bedroom, "is he right or is Hermione right?" he asked again during the next round, "they're both so grown-up", the next round.

xx

Meanwhile, Mercury, the owl, decided it was time to do something. He flew over to his wizard and landed – as gentle as he could – on his shoulder, hooting softly in his ear.

"Right!" exclaimed his wizard. "I'll just meet him. And then ask him about her. That's the simplest solution."

Mercury wanted to tell his Severus that that was all wrong – that he had the chance, the simple chance, to make a friend for a lifetime in the young wizard with the glasses, and gain a mate and his best friend in the witch that hovered somewhere between pretty and beautiful (in human standards, of course) – but of course, his wizard misunderstood his hooting and went to the desk, with him on his shoulder and scribbled in that horrible, spidery, tight, narrow scrawl of his.

"Here," he said a moment later, tying something to his leg, "take this to Harry Potter."

Mercury hooted again – he understood an order when he heard one – and, as his Severus opened the door to his quarters with a flick of his wand, he flew off.

Still hungry.

_**xx**_


	17. Chapter 17

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

The detention on Monday went as it should have. Hermione asked some questions, and more often than not, he didn't answer.

Yet, when she asked him whether he would be going to have dinner with Harry (something that Harry had not answered), he gave a quick nod – and didn't elaborate. Of course not. Monday night (slightly after curfew – but he gave her a note for it), they finished the potion, deciding both would test it.

On Tuesday, they took the potion. And didn't see one another.

On Wednesday, the weather changed to grey, rainy drizzle and neither felt a thing.

And while she wanted nothing more than to run down to the dungeons and thank him something held her back. But at lunch, he caught her eye and nodded briefly. She smiled back, summoned her owl, and scribbled on a bit of parchment.

_Thank you, sir._

Nothing more, that was all she needed to say. Everything that needed to be expressed.

And while she wanted nothing more than to thank him again and again, because for once, she could run and walk and sit and move without pain and trembles after a weather-change, she didn't. Just the note would have to do.

xx

On Monday, they finished it – and he knew it would be a success. He knew that he could make some money with it (if people bought it). And, somehow during the night, he had to admit, that part of the success was hers.

Still, he waited for her to come to him. On Tuesday, he saw her take it, and took it himself.

It was odd on Tuesday, really. He was all alone in his lab, brewing some potions for Poppy's stock, and he, sort of, missed the presence of another being. Or missed her. Or whatever.

On Wednesday for the first time in he-didn't-remember-how-long, the weather changed and he didn't feel a thing about it (even though his knees clicked), he didn't tremble, nothing. She grinned broadly at him, her eyes twinkled and he knew it had worked. Of course, he had known it – but to have proof from two people, him and her, made it grander.

To think that they hadn't even done much. He had stirred, she had handed him ingredients and they hadn't talked much. Well, he hadn't talked much. She had, as she always did. She had asked him so many questions, and oddly enough, he hadn't told her to be quiet – he had listened, yes, but not so much to the words – more the inflection, the way she emphasised certain words or expressions. Her voice. Yes, he listened more to her voice than to what she was saying. And that was quite informative.

She used her voice to make a point – on top of the point she was probably making by her words. And that was a rare gift – he found.

But, nevertheless, he had to answer her one question – the question whether he would have dinner with Potter.

But it only required a nod – and maybe, probably not, but maybe, she was satisfied with it.

However, he tried not to ponder too much about that on Wednesday morning and didn't find it too difficult – since it was rainy and drizzly and cold and windy and didn't feel the weather in his body. It was just a normal day. Only, he didn't have to concentrate on not letting his eggs (it was a good morning, still – and time for a celebratory fry-up. Every once in a while he craved one of those) fall back on the plate. No, his hands were steady.

He allowed himself a small, tiny smile. It was wonderful. And the best thing: there were no ingredients in that potion that could make it addictive. It was safe. Perfectly safe.

Suddenly, a small owl swooped down in front of him and hooted. It looked familiar – and not familiar because he immediately recognised it as being Hermione's owl, but the bird had an uncanny resemblance to – Mercury.

He frowned. Where had she gotten the owl? Were Mercury's offspring now just school owls?

"Severus?"

"What?" he snapped at Minerva who looked at him inquisitively.

"Why are you staring at the owl instead of untying the scroll?"

"Is that a school owl?" he asked, feeding it a piece of bacon.

"No," she shook her head. "It's a young one, isn't it?"

"I take it that was a rhetorical question?" he snapped.

The headmistress rolled her eyes. "Will you untie that scroll?"

"Will you still ask if I promise you that you will not know what is written on it?"

She growled and punched him lightly on the upper arm. "So Severus Snape, M.A.P. has a private life?" she snorted suddenly.

"None of your business, headmistress," he replied, deciding that he would ask Hermione Granger about the owl. Simple. He slowly untied the scroll, held it up for a moment, smirked, and put it in one of the pockets of his robes and, even though he was curious about what Hermione had written, he took his time finishing his fry-up, then sent another smirk towards the headmistress before he disappeared in a billow of black robes.

_Thank you, sir_

That was all there was on there. Nothing more. Just _Thank you, sir._ Nothing more. In the sanctity of his quarters, he smiled. That note was basic Hermione. Or maybe not.

Truth was, he wasn't sure any more. He wasn't sure what was the real Hermione and what wasn't.

And more to the point, when had he started calling her Hermione in his head?

xx

He wasn't sure how to respond to the note. Was it necessary? Probably not, but he wanted to. And yet, it was an entire week – a week during which he only saw her during classes, and not much during them. He let the seventh years work mostly on their own and during some classes, he only sat in the front and corrected other essays or assignments, and sometimes, he spent the class in the storeroom. Her classes, unfortunately, were one of those. Or maybe not unfortunately. He wasn't so sure what to think about all this. About her, especially.

He hadn't talked to her. They had created a brilliant potion together (yes, together) and he couldn't talk to her because – he didn't even know why.

Because he felt something towards her. Something that he couldn't describe.

No mistake, it wasn't falling in love – he remembered that feeling. And he was sure he didn't ever want to experience that again. It had been painful, it had hurt. Never again.

But, he trusted her – he liked her. And sometimes, late at night, he wanted to go up to the courtyard and see if she was there. Listen to her talk to that owl again. See if she was alright. And then, maybe, talk to her.

But during those almost two weeks that he hadn't talked to her in person – he couldn't bring himself to do it.

xx

She had to admit that she missed the dungeons, the lab – but right now, there was no reason to go down there. Harry was reasonably happy, wrote an owl every other day, every three days, Ron was very happy, apparently, and was quite busy – too busy to write owls. And Severus Snape – he looked at her during every meal – but hadn't responded in any way to her owl.

And yet, she was still happy that the tremors had gone away.

On the other hand, Ginny was acting like a cow and wasn't even sitting next to Hermione any more. She wasn't sure what she had done wrong, but suspected that Ginny thought it was her fault that they had broken up. And that was one thing that lay heavy on her heart.

Monday night – two weeks after they had finished the potion, she summoned Hermes when the rest of Gryffindor house had gone to bed – and left the Tower.

She needed to get a clear mind on the Ginny-situation, needed to understand why she missed Snape's presence, why she missed working with him – even after she had only done that for one week. She needed to get answers.

And she only knew one place to find those.

xx

Two weeks, two very boring weeks outwardly but inwardly, he had fought. And lost.

He summoned his heavy cloak, put a water-repelling charm on himself and moved quickly, silently to the courtyard.

_**xx**_


	18. Chapter 18

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

"Sir?" Harry ran after Margheritus Resbuns – the wizard who oversaw the auror-training.

"Harry Potter," the man in question boomed and grinned. "What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to give you this," Harry replied – his heart heavy and light at the same time and handed him a scroll.

Resbuns unrolled it and frowned. "Resignation, Potter?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. I found that I spent too much time in my life already chasing dark wizards. I'm sorry, sir."

"But...why?" the older wizard was startled. "I mean, you don't need training. You can go to work right away. We told you before. If there's a job you particularly like..."

Harry cut him off – his face the colour of beetroot. "That is _exactly_ my point. Exactly my point. Why? Why, Mister Resbuns? Why? Just because of some bleedin' prophecy made by a dotty woman who didn't know what she was talking about and some crackpot half-blood who scared all the world and decided that he had to fear a _baby_. A baby! And because the people around me were stupid enough to believe that as well. Just because fucking Voldemort thought I'd make a good Horcrux. Brilliant credentials. For everything. What are you offering me, Resbuns? The Ministership?" he yelled, turned on his heel and rushed out of the Ministry.

"Potter!" Resbuns shouted after him but Harry didn't turn once. He'd go to Ireland, spend some time with Ron – and if he grew bored with that, he already had an idea how to make some money.

xx

She sat and listened to the rain dropping on the grass around her. She had cast charms to keep her and Hermes warm and dry (and knew that if she should fall asleep, the charms would probably not hold and she would end up with pneumonia) and she breathed deeply. It smelled nice.

Hermes, as always, sat on her knee, at the moment preening his feathers with the utmost care. But since she hadn't started speaking yet, she didn't mind at all. In fact, it was sweet to see him so comfortably that he cleaned his feathers on her knee.

Suddenly, a large barn owl swooped down onto the courtyard and landed gracefully next to her, hooting. Hermes immediately straightened and hooted back. Nevertheless, she took a good look at the owl – and wasn't sure she knew it. There was, however, a scroll tied around it's rather large foot (compared to Hermes this was a monster-owl) and she noticed that there was Hermione Granger written around it.

She smiled. She'd know that scrawl anywhere. But why was Harry sending her something that late?

_Hermione,_

_sorry if this is an inconvenient time and I hope the owl hasn't woken you up. She's Ron's and her name is Weensy (don't ask …)._

_I quit Auror Training. Just a few hours ago. I can't do it any more. And the idiot Resbuns even told me I could do anything I wanted even without training. Anyway, I'm staying with Ron for a few days or weeks, who knows. Don't pay attention to the newspapers and please tell Professor Snape that I will contact him soon. Tell him I apologise._

_Love,_

_Harry._

Hermione frowned. "Why did he quit, Hermes? I'm sure he hasn't thought it through. And what will he do now? Hang around and travel around with Ron?"

xx

She sat there, in the rain – that was pelting off an invisible shield a few inches over her head and there was the little owl perched on her knee, and a huge, massive owl sitting on the grass next to her.

"Why did he quit, Hermes? I'm sure he hasn't thought it through. And what will he do now? Hang around and travel around with Ron?" she asked the owl suddenly and he just wanted to crouch down on the floor inside to listen to her, when he thought better of it.

No, he didn't really _think_ about it at all. His feet carried him to the entrance to the courtyard and he stepped through it, sure that she hadn't seen him yet.

"And why does Ron have a new owl now and I don't know about it? What else is he hiding?" she said in a voice that could be best described as hurt.

She looked up suddenly and her face, clear in the faint moonlight, was pale. "How many points will it be tonight, Professor Snape?" he asked, getting up slowly after she had made the owl sit on her forearm.

"Sit down," he drawled and, with a flick of his wand, he had dried the spot of grass next to her, eyed it suspiciously, shook his head and conjured a blanket which he spread on the ground. "Sit on that," he ordered when he carefully seated himself on the blanket – far enough not to touch her in any places but close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her warming charm.

"Professor Snape, erm, I'm sorry I came here again, it's just that..."

"Where did you get that owl?" he interrupted her and pointed at it.

"Luna Lovegood gave it to me as a birthday present," she replied, clearly confused. "Her own owl mated and had eggs and this was one of them."

"Luna Lovegood? Her bird is a tawny owl, I take it?"

"How do you know?" she asked, puzzled.

"That's a yes?"

She nodded. "Yes, but how do you know?"

He scowled. "The father of this little thing is an owl I know."

"Yours?" she asked curiously, stroking the owl's feather. She hadn't once really looked at him since he had sat down next to her.

Maybe, maybe she just wasn't used to seeing him sit on the ground. And if he was honest with himself, he didn't remember if he had ever sat in the grass next to someone who wasn't Lily. Probably not. Had lain on the grass, face down, or face up, whichever way the monster wanted it to be, if he had a meeting somewhere outdoors because he always hissed that the screams from those who suffered from his Cruciatus echoed terribly indoors and that he couldn't stand that.

But sitting on a blanket next to a student? He had never ever done that before in his life.

Yet, here he was.

And he found himself being honest. "Yes, mine."

"Your owl mated with Luna's?" she looked up suddenly, turned her head and stared into his eyes. "And you allowed that?"

He frowned. "I had no say in this matter."

She laughed softly. "Of course not." She fell silent and observed her owl again. It was still preening his feathers and looked very comfortable sitting on her knee again.

He sat rather uncomfortably himself, his legs awkwardly crossed and pulled towards his body – until he realised that, when she made one move to tell anyone about this, he would obliviate her. Quite simply erase the memories that she had been sitting here with him. But not if he could help it – she needed to trust him after all. Plus, she was certainly bright enough to realise that she might have been obliviated.

And oddly enough, he trusted her not to tell anyone. Maybe that realisation was the trigger – he stretched his legs and crossed them at his ankles.

"Who has quit what?" he asked quietly.

"Harry. Oh, erm, here, just read for yourself," she shrugged and handed him the parchment.

_Hermione,_

_sorry if this is an inconvenient time and I hope the owl hasn't woken you up. She's Ron's and her name is Weensy (don't ask …)._

_I quit Auror Training. Just a few hours ago. I can't do it any more. And the idiot Resbuns even told me I could do anything I wanted even without training. Anyway, I'm staying with Ron for a few days or weeks, who knows. Don't pay attention to the newspapers and please tell Professor Snape that I will contact him soon. Tell him I apologise._

_Love,_

_Harry._

"Mister Weasley always had an odd taste," he mumbled.

"Well thank you," she replied, sounding offended.

"You're quite welcome," he smirked. "Why has he quit?"

She ran her hands through her hair. "I don't know. I expect it was not what he wanted."

"Flighty Mister Potter," the Potions Master mused.

"Not really," Hermione shook her head, "I think the entire auror thing – sir, basically, he just had that thought in fifth year and right after Voldemort came back," she didn't flinch – and he didn't flinch either – though, he did pull a face, "it seemed the logical thing to do. Besides, Professor McGonagall promised to help him no matter what – and since Umbridge back then was strongly opposed to him doing that, well, it's basically all obligation."

He nodded.

"And since Ginny was so adamant on him doing it – well, she's history, as he said – I suppose he just wanted start making his own decisions."

Once more, he nodded. "What about this owl?" he pointed at the huge owl.

"Ron's," she chuckled softly. "He had this tiny owl before, and I suppose..."

"Mh," he hummed, "quite."

She sighed. "I didn't even know he had gotten a new owl," she whispered, "He's so wrapped up in this damn game and everything that he's just..."

"Miss Granger, I'm not sure I'm the person you want to tell this?"

She blushed. "Right," she replied and held out her arm. The owl flew on it again and she scrambled on her knees. "I'll just go."

xx

She had blabbed – why was it that she couldn't keep her trap shut? Not that she had told anyone about the doubts she had about Ron (Ginny was out, naturally, since she still didn't speak with her, Luna had her own suspicions, Harry was much too occupied with his own problems and who was left? Parents still missing).

She got up heavily and nodded at him quickly. This was awkward anyway. Him sitting on the ground – next to her, so close that she could feel his warming charm. With his legs stretched out in front of him, the feet, in his heavy, black, dragon-hide boots, sitting on the ground. The grass. On a blanket.

"Miss Granger, I'm aware of the fact that Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter are your best friends," he stopped her suddenly and she looked puzzled over her shoulder. He still sat there, apparently very calm.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"And I'm well aware of the fact that Miss Lovegood, while quite amusing, might not be patient enough to listen to such things."

"Professor what...?"

"Sit down, Miss Granger," he said.

"Professor, are you..." she asked again, sitting back down.

He sighed softly. "Ask me any question and I'll prove that I'm not someone under Polyjuice," he replied gently – quite out of character.

"It's just, no, I mean, you seem, I don't know...different," she blushed again and cursed all the blood that was running to her cheeks and her head.

Yet, she decided to sit down again, but held her arm out before doing it. "Go hunting, Hermes," she said softly and the bird took flight, beautifully, gracefully and despite his size, quite majestically. The other owl followed it swiftly and with a soft sigh, she sat down.

"I thought you might like to write a paper on the potion," Snape suggested.

"On what potion?" she asked, feeling stupid.

"Have we given it a name yet?" he asked with a smirk.

"We? Name?" she paused, "Oh! Oh! That potion! But it's yours. I mean you made it."

He groaned. "Miss Granger, do not make this any more difficult. The essence of toad is an essential ingredient. Now – would you like to write a paper on it?"

"Erm, well, I mean, I thought about going into Healing and that might be..."

"Nonsense, Healing. Wasting your talent away in St Mungo's? Putting back together people who don't know how to handle plants? Who take pride in getting into a drunken duel?" he sneered.

She gaped – this, this coming out of the mouth of Severus Snape? The person who discouraged every Gryffindor from doing anything of importance? Well, maybe that was why he had said it. "Then what should I do?" she asked, pulling her knees up and rested her chin on them.

He looked at her for a moment. "You'd be best put in academia. You're quite good at Transfiguration, the headmistress says, and well, you're not as dunderheaded as the rest of your classmates and former classmates in Potions."

She swallowed hard. "And that means?"

"Research, Miss Granger. I do believe your skills with people might be sorely lacking."

"Huh," she gasped, "that's, erm, very nice to hear."

"You expect me to be nice, Miss Granger?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.

"I, erm, I'm just surprised, sir. That's all. So I should seek an apprenticeship?"

"No," he shook his head adamantly, "most of those masters who offer apprenticeships are not too good themselves. They make their living by those apprentices."

"University then?"

He nodded swiftly. "It would benefit you," he said, very quietly.

"Would you mind, erm, Professor, just to be sure, erm, what, eh..."

"My nickname in school was Snivellus," he winced, "Potter's godfather was called Padfoot, his father Prongs. I called you more than once an insufferable know-it-all, I usually stir my potions with my left hand while I add ingredients with my wand-hand. I know that a lot of potioneers swap sides but I don't. I usually eat toast for breakfast with at least two cups of coffee, while you eat yoghurt and toast and fruit when you have the time, with tea or coffee depending on your mood. During sixth year, you were quite jealous of Miss Brown for snogging Mister Weasley's face off. Let's see, the idea with the essence of toad came from Miss Lovegood, who spends now a lot of time with you, since Miss Weasley blames you for her break-up with Mister Potter. Satisfied that I'm not polyjuiced?" he snarled the last bit.

She giggled. "Quite. But how did you know about Ron and..."

"I have eyes, Miss Granger," he replied softly and quite quickly, he got up. "Think about it. You might want to try and talk about it with Headmistress McGonagall."

She looked up at him and had just opened her mouth to say something when he interrupted her again. "And do sleep in your own bed. It's almost Halloween and too cold to sleep outside."

He was already inside the castle again, then leant over the half-wall, looking down at her. "And Ronald Weasley's childish and immature."

And with that, he was off – leaving a dazed, puzzled, startled and very surprised Hermione behind.

xx

"Hey Ron, I've just popped out for...whoa!" he closed the door to Ron's room with a bang again. This was a sight he had never wanted to see – never. And to think...

His breathing was erratic and shallow and he felt panic rising in his chest. Panic because he didn't know what to do, what to say.

"Harry..." Ron came out of his room, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. "It's not what it looks like."

"Not what it looks like?" Harry shouted, his temper getting the better of him again, "not what it looks like? What were those two doing in there with you? Looking for a something you dropped? Ron, there are two women, naked in there and you know exactly what they were doing and what you were doing."

"It's nothing like that. Nothing serious," Ron tried to reason.

"You're a git. Hermione really loves you and misses you and you're here shagging with two, yuck, Ron!" Harry turned around, grabbed his cloak and sent a last threatening glare at Ron over his shoulder. "Tell her or I will," he said simply before he stormed out, apparating away.

_**xx**_


	19. Chapter 19

**_The usual disclaimers apply._**

**_xx_**

The destination in his head was as clear as it could be. Dingy, dirty, disreputable.

'Nice alliteration, Harry,' he thought when he landed softly on his feet, feeling only slightly dizzy. Apparating did have its advantages. And its disadvantages.

"If that isn't Harry Potter," a voice, so familiar, and then not, greeted him.

"Hullo," he replied, waving slightly. "Do you think I could have a butterbeer?"

"Still drinkin' that kids' stuff?"

He grinned, "You know me."

"Butterbeer it is."

"Thanks," he smiled and sat down on one of the less wobbly stools. "So, I quit."

"You did?"

"Two days ago," he nodded and wrapped his fingers around the glass full of the drink. "And..."

"And?"

"I've been thinking."

"Dint overexert yourself, did'ya?"

Harry chuckled. "Nope. Did not. Listen, how would you like a little more business?"

"S'enough for me and me Daniela to get by, really."

"Would a bit more hurt? If you had some extra-help?" he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Are y'sayin' that..."

"Exactly what I'm sayin'."

"Couldn't pay ye much."

Harry shrugged. "Don't need the money, really," he stated, sipping on his butterbeer.

"Four galleons a week?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

"I'll start Monday?"

"How about ye start right now? And do the washin' up?"

Harry grinned. "Love to."

xx

"You look lost," Luna stated. "It's Halloween, shouldn't you be happy?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. Should I?"

"You should, I think. You know this is _the_ night."

"What night?" Hermione asked, not really paying attention. Too many things were going through her head – the talk the night before with Professor Snape – how he had said some things that were honest, but brutally so – and then, that morning, receiving another owl from Harry.

A short note.

_Hermione, _

_Am back in Hogsmeade. Staying with Abe for the time being. _

_Love,_

_Harry._

"Luna, who's Abe?"

"Abe?" the blonde asked, frowning. "I don't know."

"Someone in Hogsmeade? You know people there."

"Might be Aberforth," Luna shrugged.

"Dumbledore?"

She nodded. "It's the only name beginning with AB that I can think of. Who's asking?"

"Harry. He's staying with an Abe," she explained and showed Luna the letter.

"Oh, that's definitely Aberforth Dumbledore", Luna replied happily. "He wouldn't stay with anyone else, I don't think."

"That's what I thought," Hermione replied pensively. "But why would he do that?"

"Write him. But maybe not tonight. It is Halloween after all."

"Yes, you keep saying that," she grumbled. "And I won't. He'll probably be in Godric's Hollow after that."

"And good that he is," Luna said dreamily and suddenly, gestured wildly in front of her face.

"What are you doing?"

"It's Alberichs. And a lot of them."

"Alberichs, but that's..."

"Tiny little creatures that make you greedy by breathing on you and singing in your ear. Nasty creatures," she said, and suddenly, ran away.

"Alberichs. Quite", she mumbled to herself and kept on walking to the Potions classroom.

xx

"Seen this?" Ginny spit just before their Potions lesson began and shoved a Daily Prophet in front of Hermione. "Your idea, was it?"

"Huh?" Hermione asked and picked up the paper, watching as Ginny walked away in a huff. "As if I would read that crap," she muttered to herself but opened it nevertheless. Big, flashy letters almost stabbed her in the eye and she groaned.

_Harry quits Auror training a days before his parents' death day – still grieving?_

She frowned. News certainly did travel fast. Only – she had expected it to travel a lot faster. And it wasn't really one day – rather two. She let her head fall back and sighed. She understood – with the Ministry, he would be under constant supervision, constant surveillance by the public. If he got a job, a steady job, something which did not require hunting criminals, but rather a boring job, the interest would probably die down quicker.

But Ginny – that was another cauldron. Suddenly deciding that she had to do something, she rolled the newspaper tightly together and got up – forgetting that Snape was probably on his way to the classroom, just waiting for her to do something foolish.

"Yes, Ginny, yes, it was all my fault," she towered over the red-head who sat next to Ivy Bideford, a Ravenclaw. "I was the one who pressured him into doing something he didn't want to do, I was the one who talked to the press and I was the one who hunted him down with my evil quill and camera. It's all my fault, Ginevra Weasley, that he's finally deciding that he does want to make his own decisions."

"How dare you?" Ginny stood up and glared.

"How dare I? I'm his friend, that's how I dare. I want what's best for him and you are not."

"You don't know that. You don't know anything."

"I've known Harry since we were children. We've gone through thick and thin, I do know him. And apparently I know him better than you do."

"Why don't you just marry him then?" Ginny yelled, quite irrationally.

Hermione couldn't help it – the urge to laugh was too strong. Just too strong for her and she just did it. "You're paranoid, Ginny."

Her eyes were boring into hers and Hermione knew that Ginny was aching to find a comeback. Anything with which she might hurt her – and she steeled herself for it.

"Paranoid? Better paranoid than a prudish, bookish cow who only does it in the dark and whose boyfriend needs to go to others to be satisfied. Because you can't learn that from books and because you need to feel. Something you don't."

Hermione laughed even more at that. "Funny, Ginny. Really."

She turned away and almost ran into a wall of black.

"Miss Granger, Miss Weasley, detention 20 points off Gryffindor," Professor Snape said in his soft, dangerous tone. "And Miss Granger, get back to your seat."

She looked up for a moment – and tried to find out what he had heard, what he thought – but his face was the usual mask. A mask he had dropped only briefly the night before and she wondered, really wondered, if that was the same man she had talked to. She'd find out. Sooner or later, well, sooner rather than later, actually.

xx

"Better paranoid than a prudish, bookish cow who only does it in the dark and whose boyfriend needs to go to others to be satisfied. Because you can't learn that from books and because you need to feel. Something you don't." Well, Miss Weasley did take after her mother after all.

He remembered some of the Order meetings with Molly Weasley quite well – when she leashed out at people and had to resort to personal insults when she couldn't think of anything better to say. Apparently, her daughter had inherited that trait.

But what surprised him the most was the adult answer of Hermione. "Funny, Ginny. Really." He grinned inwardly. She had definitely grown into a woman – and that answer, more than anything else, proved it to him. Not allowing her to be baited, not rising to it, but instead laughing it off.

And yet, handing out the detentions (he would make sure she spent hers with him – or Hagrid, while Weasley would get Filch) and taking the points was quite alright – but when she looked up at him, just briefly, just for a moment, he knew that it had hurt her what Weasley had said – and that she began to wonder if she was right.

Especially since her relationship with the Weasley boy seemed a bit rocky as of late. And what Molly Weasley's daughter had said, had probably struck home. He would find out. Later. And make sure she wrote the paper about the potion. Make her see that the Weasley boy shouldn't be top on her list of priorities and shouldn't occupy her mind.

The class, was rather calm after that – and he was able to sit in the front, pretending to grade some essays while they brewed. But Hermione seemed occupied. Very occupied.

So – she was one of those now – most certainly she was. Saying something, feeling something else. She had, it seemed, partially outgrown all that Gryffindorness. Thank Merlin.

Still, nobody talked during his lesson, everyone stirred or chopped or at least pretended to work and he was glad. Another cat fight would be highly unpleasant.

xx

Was she really? A prudish, bookish cow? No, Ginny had wanted to say something to hurt her and since she knew her to a certain degree, she knew what to say. So what if she liked books and sometimes, Ron's rather heavy-handed, crude, clumsy advances were rather inappropriate and she didn't want them. What if she didn't want to spent her days in his bed? There were more important things, right? What if she loved books more?

That wasn't natural, was it? Rather reading than snogging? But the kisses were so wet and sometimes they just felt like he was servicing her teeth (and she knew all about having her teeth seen to – her parents were dentists!) and inspecting her mouth than kissing her. He just shoved his tongue in her mouth and moved it around rather too quickly.

She shook herself a little. Potions were not the place to be thinking about Ron's tongue. Especially not when the lesson was drawing to a close and those around her were packing up already.

Another potion she had completely botched up. She sighed softly and bottled what grey mess she had managed to produce, knowing she was in for another zero.

Honestly, if her less than adequate performances in that class resumed, she would never get the NEWT score she wanted. Or needed to go into anything she wanted to go in – well – no.

That was another problem, wasn't it?

Snape's career advice. Research. Research.

Absently, she packed her notes and quill in her book bag, barely noticing that almost the entire class had left already – and that even Luna had gone, after sending her friend an encouraging smile and after whispering a tiny spell over her (nothing too big, only enough to keep the Nargles and Alberichs and Wrackspurts away for the time being).

She was still deep in thought. Research. Doing potions research? That would actually be something she could see herself enjoying. Enjoying a lot.

'And it would totally fit the prudish, bookish cow image,' she thought to herself sarcastically.

"Miss Granger," she looked up suddenly and Professor Snape was standing directly in front of her.

xx

"I expect you to be here at eight tomorrow. I believe the headmistress would mind if you missed the Halloween feast," he continued, and wondered whether he should explain that he knew that it wasn't really a detention. That he wanted her to write that paper – that they would get it submitted, published. That this was the first step for her towards a career. Only, he reprimanded himself for even thinking about telling her that.

"Alright," she replied softly and looked up at him again. "Will, erm, will she be there as well?"

He sneered. "Of course not. An insult like that can only be punished by Mister Filch," oh – oh no. He hadn't meant to say it that way.

She smiled weakly. "I insulted her as well."

"All that Gryffindor-pride, Miss Granger, don't. I only judge what I hear. And all you said while I was present was, I quote, 'Funny, Ginny. Really.'," he mocked her tone, "And that, even in my book of rules, does not warrant a detention."

She looked at him inquisitively. "Why are you doing this?"

The one question he dreaded. Because it was the one question he couldn't answer himself. He didn't know. But he couldn't tell her that. No. Definitely not.

'Think Snape, think,' his brain worked frantically. He needed something. Anything.

"I cannot write the paper myself. I'm too busy and since you were a participant in..."

"I don't mean that, sir," she interrupted softly. "Why are you nice to me?"

"I am never nice," he replied swiftly. "Not to you, not to anyone. But I hate to see potential go to waste."

"I, erm, never intended to let my talent go to waste."

"Going into Healing?" he sneered. "That is talent gone to waste."

"I thought about law enforcement."

He shook his head. "That is idiocy and you know it," he said more forceful than he had wanted. "Law enforcement. Rotting away in an office shuffling papers around."

"See?" she obviously blurted without thinking, "That's what I mean."

"Miss Granger, be here tonight at eight."

She got up and blinked, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth and letting it slide out slowly. "I will be."

She turned away from him and walked out. Leaving him to his thoughts.

Why was he doing it?

Yes, exactly – because he hated seeing talent going to waste. Because she was too occupied with her relationship with that idiot boy, because she was still too much immersed in thoughts of the war, because – so many reasons. Because she had lost her friends.

And – because he had seen the Daily Prophet that morning (a nudge from Minerva had made him, really) and because he guessed that the Weasley girl wasn't too far off when she said that her brother found his satisfaction somewhere else. A picture, after all, said more than a thousand words.

And while it wasn't too blatantly clear, the photograph of him with two overly blonde, overly busty witches clinging way too tightly to him (and his hands were not visible, probably on the backsides of those groupies), seemed to imply just enough.

He groaned.

He still shouldn't care. And yet, he did.

xx

"Professor?" Hermione stopped the headmistress in one of the corridors just before Transfiguration.

"Miss Granger? What can I do for you?"

Hermione fidgeted a little nervously. "Erm, Harry is apparently in Hogsmeade again, and I wondered..."

"You might want to go this afternoon, Miss Granger," she nodded benevolently, "wouldn't want you to miss the feast tonight."

Hermione nodded quickly. She would go straight after Transfiguration. And if she didn't find Harry, at least she would talk to Aberforth. Find out what that was all about.

xx

Harry sat on one of the wooden tables, eating his shepherd's pie with relish. He needed food like that, having spent the morning at his parents' graves, the cold seeping through his heavy cloak, through his clothes, his jeans, his boots, into his bones and the crispy potatoes on top, the creamy mashed potatoes underneath, the delicious ground lamb in a perfect sauce underneath scared the cold away and he tucked in with abandon.

Aberforth had simply put it in front of him, and had then whistled for Daniela, the one goat he usually kept indoors (Harry wasn't sure how he felt about it, but then again, Aberforth talked to this goat, and it kept him company – he didn't want to think about what else he did with it – even though he doubted the rumours) and had left.

So he was left quite alone with his pie and his thoughts. It was the right decision he was making. That, he didn't doubt. And that it would bring Aberforth more customers was clear. If they were so adamant on making him a celebrity, he would use that to his, and others, advantage. Quite simply.

Suddenly, the door banged open and Harry groaned inwardly. Just what he had expected.

"Hullo Ron," he said tiredly.

"What're you doing here?" Ron asked without greeting.

"I'm working here," Harry explained. "Barman for Aberforth. Bit of cooking, bit of cleaning, bit of serving."

"Are you serious?"

"I'm serious. Do you want to sit down?" Harry asked.

"Erm, yeah, sure," Ron seemed startled but sat down nevertheless.

"Shouldn't you be in Ireland?"

"I had to come. Did you see the paper this morning?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't read the paper any more. It bores me," he replied nonchalantly.

"Does Hermione read it?" he asked anxiously.

"No," Harry answered testily. "But if there's anything in there about what I've seen last night, I swear I'll show her."

"Don't tell her yet," Ron's tone was pleading, almost begging. "I will tell her. I promise."

"You promise? You're here already, go up and tell her now."

He shook his head immediately. "Please Harry. Not yet. I have to sort it out and with that kind of scandal, and you know how 'Mione is, I'll never get to play again. I can never show my face again."

"You will tell her," Harry was getting angrier by the minute. No, he truly thought that Ron should be the one to tell her – not him.

"Tell who what?" and suddenly, she stood in front of him in the door, her cheeks red from the cold. It seemed to take her a moment to realise that the red-head who had his back to her was her boyfriend.

"Ron!" she simply squealed then a moment later and Harry blinked. For only a moment – but when his eyes were on the scene again, Ron had swooped Hermione up in his arms and both were kissing stormily.

_**xx**_


	20. Chapter 20

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**Dedicated to stsgirlie. Without her, the chapter would have been quite different.**_

_**xx**_

It was nice to be back in his arms – but somehow, it wasn't as nice as she had pictured it. Yes – yes, they hugged and they kissed but somehow, it wasn't how she had wanted it. He seemed his sloppy self, shoving his tongue into her mouth but after the first excitement of seeing him, there was a stale taste to it (and yes, she did mean that literally and metaphorically). And he seemed so overexcited.

She allowed her mind to wander while he kissed her – something she had done often during the summer (it was, after all, quiet time and neither Harry nor Ron were talking) – and felt that something was amiss. What? Well, she couldn't quite put her finger on it – but something was wrong nonetheless.

Confused, she wanted to pull away but decided on the spur of the moment, against it. He would be suspicious.

So, reluctantly, but without actually showing it, she let him kiss her.

xx

Harry glared – what else was there to do? Ron was eating Hermione's face and she didn't look too passionate about it – once he could see her face when Ron swirled her around. In fact, at one point, she seemed to have her eyes open wide during that kiss (or multiple kisses?) and seemed quite unhappy. Or confused. He wasn't sure. And he felt compelled to rescue her from this situation.

"Oy!" he said loudly and banged his fork on the table. "Could you stop that?"

Hermione pulled away, and flashed Harry a quick glance – grateful, if he interpreted it correctly as he motioned her to him, embracing her.

"Hey 'Mione," he said softly – while he grimaced and nodded and nudged with his head towards Ron and then Hermione – trying to signal him that he should talk.

Ron, on the other hand, simply shook his head – causing Harry to frown – and repeat his facial expressions, still holding tight to Hermione.

"Harry, you're squashing me," she gasped.

"Sorry," he muttered and let her go, keeping his eyes on Ron – who looked at the floor. "Ron?"

"I didn't know you were coming, Ron," Hermione turned around again and also looked at her boyfriend, who was shuffling his feet and had his hands clasped behind his back. "Ron?" she asked curiously.

"Ron?" Harry's voice grew colder. "Wouldn't you like to say something?"

Ron looked up, blushing.

And said nothing.

"Harry, what's going on?" Hermione turned around and looked at her best friend, fear in her eyes.

xx

Something was off. Something was definitely going on there. Ron had blushed a deep red and Harry's ear were turning red as well, as well as he was fisting his hands – a clear sign of – anger.

"What's going on?" she shouted after a moment, her eyes darting between Harry and Ron.

"I think Ron should tell you," Harry said quietly, his eyes on Ron.

Hermione waited – her arms crossed over her chest. She waited – and looked intently at Ron – who seemed devastatingly interested in his shoes.

"Ron!" she heard Harry behind him.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron whispered.

She was shocked – aghast – confused. She turned around slowly. "Harry, what's that all about?"

"Bloody coward," he muttered and stormed behind the counter, pouring two firewhiskeys. He rushed back and shoved one in Hermione's hand. "Drink."

"Harry, you're scaring me," Hermione said softly. She turned around again. "Ron?"

"Drink," Harry hissed and downed his own firewhiskey.

She swallowed, then tipped the liquid into her mouth, choking on the burning liquid. "Please, Harry," she pleaded with him.

"Sit," he nodded towards the table he had sat earlier, apparently ignoring Ron.

Her hands trembled and she knew it had nothing to do with any aftershock of the Cruciatus Curse. "What's going on here?"

Harry snapped and shoved the Daily Prophet in front of her. "Seen it?"

"Only the title. Ginny shoved it in my face this morning."

"Ginny shoved...erm, no, look at the Sports pages, please."

She opened the paper and paled – felt hot and cold at the same time when she saw the picture. Two women, very beautiful women, each hanging on one of Ron's arm, smiling and walking towards the photographer, alternately kissing Ron. On the mouth. And Ron, the picture Ron, seemed pleased. And only his ears seemed a bit darker than usual in the black and white picture.

Hermione turned around rapidly – and looked at her boyfriend. Boyfriend?

"Ron?" she asked again. "What's that."

"That's not all," Harry hissed, then turnd towards Ron, "tell her."

Ron – still quite red in the face, kept his eyes on the ground, then viciously looked up. "Can't keep your gob shut, can you?"

"His gob shut? Ron it's the paper," Hermione got up and crossed her arms again. "Everyone could see it," then, she realisation was dawning on her, "Ginny – oh my God," she gasped. She closed her eyes briefly and then looked back at Harry, "tell me what she told me isn't true."

"I found him with those two in a com...," Harry whispered but couldn't finish his sentence – since at that moment, all hell broke loose.

First, she threw her glass at the wall, barely missing Ron's head who ducked reflexively. Then, she stormed towards him, a furious expression on her face that didn't do the things she felt even halfway justice.

She was, essentially a witch, and most of the time, felt essentially like a witch but in moments like this, her muggle upbringing was very much present.

And so, her fist connected painfully with Ron's nose, and the sound it made, made her nauseous. The blood streaming down his face only seconds later didn't bother her at all, however.

"You bastard," she spat and ran from the pub.

xx

"Thanks Harry," Ron said muffled, holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose.

"I can't believe you didn't say anything."

"Can't you?"

Harry shook his head. "The door's there," he snapped, pointing towards it and disappeared, without looking back once, into the kitchen.

He strained his ears – even if it wasn't necessary since his former best friend (former? He'd have to think about it once he had calmed) banged the door to the Hog's Head loudly. Harry sank against the cold stove and breathed loudly.

"Alright, Harry?" Aberforth had come in, the goat tailing behind him.

"Ron's cheated on Hermione at least once with two women and I told her."

"_You_ told her? Why should you tell her?" he asked, suddenly losing his accent.

Harry groaned. "Because he couldn't or wouldn't. How the hell should I know? But she should know, right?"

The old man nodded slowly. "Yes. Absolutely. But why..."

Harry hid his face in his hands. "Why me and Ginny and Ron and Hermione on such short notice?"

"Some't like that," he nodded, cultivating his fake accent again.

"I'd have to think about that. I don't know," he replied tiredly. "Do you mind if I go upstairs for a bit?"

"Nah, tis gonna be quiet tonight," the older man smiled (looking a little like his brother without the twinkle) and petted his goat.

xx

He looked after him as he disappeared and raised his eyebrows.

"Well, Daniela, looks like my brother didn't get far with his wish. Love is, most definitely not all around."

The goat baaed and searched Aberforth's pockets for something to eat. When she found nothing, she looked up.

"Idiot brother. Thought love would rule the world," Aberforth grumbled and picked a cooked potato from the table in the kitchen and fed it to her. "Only because he loved everything and everyone. Quite forgot how painful it can be."

The goat baaed again and nudged his thigh. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Should have told her years ago. But you know, he held me back. And as for Harry – he needs to be on his own for a while. Maybe we need to get him a pet."

xx

She ran up towards the castle, not allowing her tears to fall. She knew things hadn't been right – and probably should have broken up weeks ago when she first felt that she didn't really love him the way a girlfriend should love her boyfriend.

But nevertheless – being dumped like that, being cheated and then not even hearing it from himself but from Harry. Not even having the spunk to tell her herself – just looking at his shoes.

It infuriated her.

It hurt her.

And most of all – it made her doubt herself.

He wouldn't come to see her – not once during the two months she had been away but had laid God only knew how many women.

And two at the same time. How sick was that?

"How bad was I?" she muttered, panting, as she stormed indoors, not caring where she was going. This was Hogwarts, this was where she was safe. But he – how could he do this? She could have handled a normal break-up – she could have handled him dumping her like everyone else was but Ginny's comment that morning – and his actions – that hurt. Immensely. More than she cared to admit to herself.

Taking two women to bed. Two women at the same time. No, she didn't doubt Harry's words for a moment – they had been the last piece of the puzzle, the reason he had come back and hadn't stayed with Ron any more. But him – being so cowardly – she hadn't expected that at all. She would have expected an honest talk. An honest apology. But nothing of the sort.

And she wasn't sure whether she was to blame. Whether she was really the bookish, prudish cow – and if she was the cause that Ron had turned to those groupies.

Her head said no.

Her heart said yes.

She ran, simply ran, not caring whether Filch or Snape or McGonagall saw her, not caring if she'd serve detention for the rest of the term, or the rest of the year. She didn't care. She only ran.

xx

"What's wrong with Miss Granger?" the headmistress asked concernedly, seeing her running past them, a haunted expression in her eyes, on her face.

"Do I look like I care?" Severus Snape drawled, absolutely interested in his fingernails at the moment.

"Severus," she scolded, "you could show a little more interest in your best student."

"My best student," he sneered, "she spoiled the second potion this term. Miss Lovegood is better than her."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Would it hurt you to accept that Hermione is bright?"

"Probably."

She punched his arm and glared at him. "Stop it, Severus."

"I will. And I will remove myself from you before I get hexed," he replied softly.

"I expect you at the feast. With a smile."

He sneered. "Most certainly," he said sarcastically and rushed off.

xx

Something had happened in Hogsmeade – probably she had seen the Prophet and had drawn the same conclusions he had. He wouldn't put it past her. And given her current situation – with everything that was on her plate, plus her mental absence that morning, and her face, so full of pain and hurt, so clearly written all over it, he wasn't sure what she was doing. Or capable of doing.

Not that she would fling herself off the Astronomy Tower – or maybe she would. No, she was sensible enough. But to leave her completely alone like this – he knew how it was – that sometimes thoughts could overwhelm everything else and that clear thinking wasn't a given any more.

He rushed off – not knowing where to go first, when his legs carried him to the courtyard, realising that this was the most sensible she could have gone.

He argued with himself – as soon as he saw her sitting there, indeed in the courtyard, her cheek on her knees, and her thighs pressed tightly to her stomach and chest. She looked in his direction – but something told him that she wasn't looking at anything at all – he argued with himself that she was fine, that she didn't need a nanny to watch over her – and that she had her owl and Miss Lovegood to talk about it. Whatever it was. Yet, something inside of him wanted him to stay. Something wanted her to tell him what had happened. Something inside of him wanted to console her.

'Nonsense,' he thought and turned around sharply.

"He cheated on me," Hermione spoke loudly, clearly, lifting her head. "He slept with two women at the same time, sir," she continued.

Once more, he turned around. "Pardon?"

Hermione lay her cheek back on her knee and sighed. "Ronald Weasley cheated on me. There was even a picture in the paper of him with two women. Very beautiful in an artificial kind of way."

"Miss Granger..."

"I wasn't good enough for him, apparently. But then again, with two women, I wonder how I could have ever pleased him. But Ginny was right, I think."

"Miss Granger..." he said again but when she ignored it, he stepped into the courtyard, where she sat – without a spell on her to keep her warm and dry – and waved his wand.

"He's such a prick. And I'm such an idiot because I don't really love him, or am in love with him but this hurts me nevertheless. Quite mental, isn't it?"

She seemed to wait for an answer, looking at him as he stood over her, looking down – her eyes hollow and lifeless.

"Miss Granger..."

"No, Professor Snape, you were right. I don't have any people skills, I don't get along with people. I've had two friends in my entire life. Harry and Ron. And Ron – I wonder whether..."

"I doubt this is the place to discuss this," he interrupted sharply and pulled her up by the sleeve of her pale blue muggle coat.

xx

He wasn't sure what made him do it. Pulling her up and pulling her with him to his office. But she seemed completely out of it – completely lost in her thoughts, not knowing what she was talking about, and who she was talking to, even though she had addressed him directly. But she seemed quite lost in that moment and he couldn't let her sit in the rain.

He would have pulled every student inside out of the rain and cold – even a Hufflepuff – even another Gryffindor. It was his duty as a teacher to prevent students from getting sick or ill if he could help it. And she would have caught pneumonia. Not if he had a say in this.

No, he merely pulled her up because of his duty as a teacher – his duty to keep the students from doing something stupid.

He certainly wasn't the one who encouraged her to talk. No, he would have been quite happy to give her a pepper-up potion (precaution, obviously) and sent her on her way.

But no – as soon as she entered his office, she leant against the wall (well, he had put her there) and she slid down, sitting on the floor in the same position she had before.

"I didn't love him and I didn't end it and now I have to bear the consequences. It's my own fault, really. Ginny's right. I'm not any good at it, and he needed more and I couldn't give it to him. So he didn't write any more and probably thought it was over and he had to go and get it somewhere else. Because let's face it, he's 18, he's a randy teenager, he needs it. And I doubt there is a room you can rent by the hour somewhere here in this castle," she spoke softly, looking at the stone wall.

He wanted to pull her up again, put her in a chair, tell her to shut up, or go to Minerva or Poppy or anyone to talk to. "Miss Granger, I'm sure I'm not the right person to tell this."

"You are the right person to tell this to. And you know why?" she didn't miss a beat, "because you were the only one this year that's been nice to me. Apart from Harry and Luna. And Luna's waffling on about Alberichs and we both know this is from the Nibelungenlied and from Germany somewhere and not a creature that makes you greedy and Ronald was still with Harry so I couldn't stay with him. Because you will probably judge me for telling you all this but I don't care. You've judged me ever since I came here. I've been judged by everyone since I came here and I'm used to it. But you're honest. And you're nice to me. Though I don't know why."

"Miss Granger, I..."

"No, just let me speak, okay? It's over with Ronald. I don't know how he could have done that. I just don't know. I didn't love him but I didn't deserve this."

He contemplated replying to this somehow but then decided against it. The sooner she was done ranting, the sooner she was out of his office. But – he sat down in the chair on his desk and opened a large drawer, pulling a bottle of firewhiskey and a glass out of it before pouring some of the liquor inside and, with long strides, was by her side in a moment and pushed the glass in her hands.

"Drink," he said softly.

"You're the second one to tell me that today," she muttered softly.

He nodded and, since he didn't want to sit on the floor, he proffered his hand. "You shouldn't sit on the floor."

She downed the drink, and let him help her up. She leaned wobbly against the wall – and only after he had given her a second drink, she seemed to snap out of it somewhat and she looked at him, her eyes widened, biting on her lip. "I'm sorry, Professor Snape."

He nodded.

"But he just stood there. He didn't even say anything. Harry now works at the Hog's Head, I think and he told me. He stumbled in on Ronald and the two artificially beautiful witches because he wanted to stay with him to get away from it. And he told me. Ronald couldn't even tell me. He just stood there, blushing and looking down and said nothing. No, that's not right. He said, 'I'm sorry, Hermione' and that was that. Nothing else. And then Harry told me and showed me the picture in the paper and I hit him. I think I broke his nose."

"That's the spirit," he said before he could stop himself but she, luckily, didn't seem to have heard him. She simply rambled on.

"I honestly thought I had a chance with him – or something like that. My parents are still missing and I've got nobody left but Harry. The Weasley, yes, but after this, and after what happened with Ginny and the fact that she thinks that it's my fault that he quit his training, they won't like me any more and I've got nothing else."

She slumped to the floor again. "Great, and now I'm pitying myself."

"I think everyone's entitled to a bit of self-pity. Once in a while."

And the look on her face was one he would never forget. She looked up from down where she sat, deeply into his eyes, a ferociousness in them he had only once seen before in his life. Well, twice when he counted the look Minerva had worn when dealing with Umbridge, which he didn't, really.

"You're right," she said suddenly and lifted her hand. "Once in a while. Once in a while."

He raised an eyebrow but on instinct, he helped her up again.

"Once in a while. And it's his fault, right? Not mine. I didn't cheat. I dealt with being away from him and didn't jump into bed with two hunks, right?" her look was intense, and the way her hand moved to her back pocket, he thought that she was right now, grabbing her wand. "It's his fault. And he'll pay for this."

"That's probably not the best idea, Miss Granger. Hexing bits off people never goes down well with the Wizengamot."

"He deserves it," she cried.

"He does. But you're overreacting and you had a bit of firewhiskey and shouldn't do anything rash. Even though you are a Gryffindor and they do all things rashly."

She swallowed and held out her glass. "Then give me one more. That'll give me some more time."

"I think not."

"I think so."

"No. And if you argue with me some more, you'll lose points."

She paled and seemed to consider what to say. It took her a moment, but then she spoke, clearly. "May I brew something?"

_**xx**_


	21. Chapter 21

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**I'm sorry this is so short. **_

_**xx**_

He waved his hand towards the door to his classroom. "Feel free," he said. Gentler than he had ever sounded and she, looked up in surprise.

"Thank you," she responded in kind, turning away from him and beginning to walk to towards the classroom. She was just grabbing the handle when she heard him clear his throat and she turned to look at him once more.

"Nothing forbidden, nothing dangerous, no love potion, no Shrinking Solution, no Impotence Draught," he drawled.

She rubbed her hand over her forehead but nodded. "Anything Madam Pomfrey needs?"

"I believe a batch of Pepper Up wouldn't come amiss – and if you have the time, some Skele-Gro."

She nodded with a weak smile and disappeared through the doors – and yet, he followed her closely.

"I won't let anything explode," she said with conviction.

He raised both his eyebrows and summoned a few jars full of ingredients she didn't know from a distance.

"Mh," she said softly. "Maybe I should just..."

"Brew, Miss Granger," he replied sharply, taking obviously a pickled dung-beetle from the jar, and dropped it in a mortar, before his long fingers unscrewed the lid of another jar, and, with even longer fingers (and an odd – almost disgusted expression on his face) extracted something she couldn't place at all in the mortar as well.

She, on the other hand, gathered her ingredients by hand. She carefully picked them out, carefully carried them back to the cauldron she intended to work at (the first row – only three away from where he was currently crushing the pickled dung-beetle and the other ingredient) and put them down carefully.

"Professor Snape?" she asked quietly, sitting down her stool.

He groaned and continued to grind the ingredients up with a pestle. "Miss Granger, if you ask me one more time why I'm nice to you, I'll expel you from this classroom and make sure you will not be allowed to take your Potions NEWTs."

"No, no, no, I wasn't going to ask that," she said quickly. "I was merely interested in what your doing. I noticed the pickled dung-beetle, not the other thing."

He sighed dramatically – something she found immensely funny – since he had never made a noise like this in her presence before (had she asked the headmistress, she would have heard that hearing such a sound wasn't such an unusual occurrence) and while he kept on grinding and mushing and crushing, he spoke – softly, gently, almost friendly, "I doubt you will have heard of Potio Peritiae?"

She shook her head, chopping the Gurdyroots for the Skele-Gro. "I don't think I have, sir."

"It's an ancient recipe," he began to lecture. "Translate Potio Peritiae."

"Potio is potion. That one is clear but peritiae? Peritia? I'm not sure, sir. I've never really learned Latin."

"Well, you should," he replied quickly. "Peritia, as you noticed, is the Latin word for Experience. Which would make this?"

"The Potion of Experience?" she asked curiously.

"Yes."

She frowned. "Does it give you experience?"

"No."

"Alright. Then it lets you experience things?"

"No."

She huffed. "Will you give me a pass for the Restricted Section so I might go and look it up?"

He smirked. "The Potio Peritiae is exactly that – it lets you experience other things – even though I believe the English translation, as always, is a bit vague..."

"Like in virtus," Hermione interrupted. "We would translate virtus with virtue – but it's so much more..."

"Quite," he replied a little miffed, it seemed. "As I before you so graciously interrupted me, peritia is much more – many things that our modern world wizarding mind cannot even grasp, many concepts and one of them is, that you experience compassio."

"Compassion," Hermione translated quickly.

"Yes. And this is what this is for. This potion will allow you to experience the feelings of the person opposite you."

She nodded. "Does this mean completely experience the feelings of the other person?"

He shook his head. "No. I have never taken it," he looked disapprovingly at her when she dared to pull a face, but continued speaking, "but it seems you only know about the feelings. If, for instance, the other person is in pain, you will not experience the actual pain. Or if the person's depressed, you will feel a certain sadness, but not the deep depression."

"I see," she said quietly. "So if you took it, hypothetically speaking, of course, and looked at me or whatever you have to do, to activate it, you'd know that I'd be heartbroken and sad and hurt but you'd be none of those things yourself."

"Yes," he answered shortly. "Now, will you concentrate on the Skele-Gro you were making?"

"But...what was is that second ingredient you're crushing."

"Goat's liver," he replied coldly and went back to his work.

xx

She was too curious for her own sake. And no, he wasn't making the potion for himself but for Minerva, who had sort of asked since she didn't understand some people at all – especially when it came to the curriculum and the job interviews she was holding about the position of Transfiguration Master of Mistress. Some people, she knew, were only applying because they wanted a piece of the we-destroyed-the-Dark-Lord-cake. And other just for kicks.

What he didn't tell Hermione was the fact that that potion was quite restricted by the Ministry – since it was almost as if using Legilimency. Almost. Not quite, since one didn't see into memories and past experiences but only the present. And yet, he was brewing it really for the headmistress. She hadn't really demanded it but he knew she needed it. None of them were good enough – and worse, they didn't really fit into with them. And she needed it and she had, more or less, asked for it. Not in so many words – but she had asked him to sit in in some of the interviews. And he knew what that meant.

It meant his Legilimency-skills. And he didn't want that. So he brewed the potion. Not for himself. Why would he need that? He had Legilimency after all. If he wanted to.

He breathed deeply. She was very careful in preparing her ingredients – and she had taken a book from the cupboard and rather looked twice than doing something wrong. She was precise, so diligent. So painstakingly assiduous. Her hair pulled back tightly, her brow furrowed in concentration, her fingers carefully gripping the knife, cutting it all into small pieces, her back slightly bent over the table – her muggle shirt stretching over her back – exposing that she hadn't had enough to eat in the last couple of weeks, dark blue bootleg jeans damp on the seams – well, damp up to the knees.

He knew that such trousers were extremely fashionable in the muggle world and that some young women, girls, relished in having wet trousers up to the knees. But she couldn't possibly be comfortable like this.

He sighed inwardly and pointed his wand towards the wet legs of her jeans. He didn't need to say the incantation out loud – he merely thought it – and they were dry within seconds.

She looked up and smiled. "Thank you," she said very softly and spared him a smile.

xx

"Severus!" an angry sound came from outside the door just as he added some other ingredient (and she didn't know what it was).

He groaned, apparently oblivious to the fact that she was still in the room. "Bloody women. Bloody feast," he muttered so softly she had difficulties understanding.

Her Skele-Gro was bubbling nicely and she had prepared the ingedients for the Pepper Up Potion. She looked up, startled.

"Bloody women," he muttered, then looked over his shoulder at Hermione. "I think you missed the feast."

"I think you missed it, too," she replied, a smile playing on the corners of her mouth.

"As if someone would miss me," he continued to mutter and opened the door manually.

"Severus, have you seen Miss Granger? She's not..."

He opened the door wider to allow her to see Hermione stirring in the cauldron full of unfinished Skele-Grow.

"Hello," Hermione said earnestly.

"You and Miss Granger both missed the feast. Do you know what kind of talk this..."

"Dear headmistress," he began, "I'm sure if you'd read tomorrow's Daily Prophet, you'll see that Miss Granger was in no fit state to attend the feast and since I didn't trust her not to destroy my classroom, I stayed."

"Hermione," Minerva McGonagall said concernedly, "what happened?"

"I, erm, Ro...well, he and I...", she stuttered.

"Mister Weasley saw it fit to end the relationship with Miss Granger," Severus Snape interrupted her stutter.

"Severus," the headmistress raised her eyebrows. "Hermione?"

It was the first time for a long long time since Professor McGonagall had addressed her by her first name and she could do nothing but clench her teeth.

"I'm sure you saw the paper this morning and what we expected was true," Severus explained.

"Oh," Professor McGonagall uttered and moved towards Hermione, and when she reached her, she put her hands gently on her upper arms. "I'm sorry."

"We're over," Hermione spoke through her clenched teeth.

"Hermione...I'm...," Minerva said and Hermione just nodded.

She wasn't able to say anything in return. What was there to say? She had just broken up with her cheating boyfriend – there was nothing to say.

"I think Miss Granger needs to finish her detention," he said earnestly. "And as you can see, she's still whole and I haven't used any part of her in a potion."

Minerva huffed and glared at him. She raised a dangerous eyebrow but when he countered with an evil look, she pulled her robes tighter around herself.

"Miss Granger, if there's anything you want to talk about, you know where to find me."

Hermione found herself nodding but unable to say anything. And Severus – he was just nodding and looked after her as she walked out of the classroom.

She concentrated on stirring her Skele-Gro when she heard the door close and she breathed a sigh of relief. She pinched the bridge of her nose, letting the stirring rod fall on the working bench. She let her head fall in her neck and groaned.

"It's really going to make the headlines, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't be surprised," he answered quickly, returning to his own potion.

"Professor Snape?" she looked up and in his face.

"Miss Granger?"

"Thank you," she whispered softly, feeling something shift in herself.

"You're welcome," he nodded.

xx

And she didn't realise that something within him was changing as well.

_**xx**_


	22. Chapter 22

xx

November, 2nd 1998

_**Trouble in paradise?**_

_Last night, Ronald Weasley, star Keeper of the Kenmare Kestrels was seen with an unnamed young woman in a restaurant in Kenmare. Both seemed very cosy and according to their waiter very much in love. _

_But what happened to Hermione Granger? Have they broken up? _

_Weasley, playing against the Chudley Cannons tomorrow was not willing to grant us an interview but instead the manager of the Kenmare Kestrels, Chuck Snidgins, gave an official statement in his stead: 'Ron and Hermione are still together and going strong. The woman Mister Weasley met in the restaurant last night is nothing more than a friend of the Weasley family.'_

_According to sources, the woman's name is Gabrielle Delacour and incidentally the little sister of Ronald's sister-in-law, Fleur Weasley, known better as Fleur Delacour, the wife of his eldest brother Bill. _

_[…]_

xx

November 13th, 1998

_**More on Ronielle**_

_Ronald Weasley and Gabrielle Delacour have been sighted in Dublin last night and after their open display of affection (see photograph taken by our freelance contributor Carl Eos) there can be no doubt that this certainly goes beyond friendship. However, there is no official confirmation of a breakup and Miss Hermione Granger is not willing to give a statement. _

November 14th, 1998

_**Boy-who-lived-twice and Dumbledore's murderer meet!**_

_Harry Potter, the saviour of our world and vanisher of you-know-who met Severus Snape, former Death Eater, spy and murderer of Albus Dumbledore in a pub in Hogsmeade, called the Hog's Head. Coincidentally, this is also the new place of employ for Mister Potter who gave up on his Auror Career some weeks prior. _

_They seemed to have meet on purpose and were reported to have eaten together at one table and were apparently talking for well over two hours. _

_We wonder if someone used an Unforgivable on the boy-who-lived in order to make him meet Severus Snape. _

xx

December 1st, 1998

_**Murderer of Albus Dumbledore threatens and assaults Prophet staffer!**_

_Severus Snape, known former Death Eater has threatened Francis Menhart, loyal writer for the Daily Prophet with hexes and jinxes yesterday morning. Menhart, having an appointment with Hermione Granger, was on the school grounds when Snape stormed towards him and pulled his wand out and held it in Menhart's face, upon which our dear staff member fled the scene. Death Eaters have been known to know many dark curses and are not afraid to use them. _

_Francis Menhart was taken to St Mungo's hospital and had to be treated for shock. _

xx

December 4th, 1998

_**Ronielle kiss in public! No statement from Granger**_

_Ronielle, Ron Weasley and Gabrielle Delacour, were spotted kissing passionately in Diagon Alley while apparently shopping for Christmas presents. They grinned at our writer and photographer (see picture) and they are, indubitably, very much in love. Asked whether they were thinking of binding, Gabrielle blushed and hid her hands. _

_Hermione Granger, still or ex-girlfriend of Ronald Weasley, still is not willing to comment on this. Francis Menhart, the member of our staff who has been assaulted and threatened by Severus Snape mere three days ago went to see her again but was turned away by our beloved Miss Granger herself. _

_'Get the hell out of here!' she shouted at our dear writer._

_Someone seems to have taken a breakup badly. _

xx

December 15th

_**Ronielle make it official!**_

_Ronald Weasley and Gabrielle Delacour are engaged to be bound. The happy couple gave a small, intimate press conference at the home of the Weasley family near Ottery-St-Catchpole last night and officially confirmed that they are engaged to be bound. The ceremony will take place at Christmas in the Weasley-residence. _

_Other members of the family, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were not willing to give a statement. _

_We wonder, however, if the fact that Harry works now in Hogsmeade and is mere minutes away from Hermione has something to do with the breakup of Mister Weasley and Miss Granger and if she isn't the reason that he has chosen to wed so quickly. _

_Miss Granger has a history of breaking the hearts of men_

[...]

xx

Tuesdays, every other week he had allowed her.

Tuesdays, every week after dinner, she came down to the classroom and would brew something. A bit of Pepper-Up, Fever-Reducer, Skele-Gro, Muscle-Relaxant, a potion for pains in the ear, the throat, Anti-Inflammatory-Solution, even an Antacid-Draught (sometimes, Professor Flitwick overindulged and needed it). She restocked the Hospital Wing, and he was with her in his classroom most of the time – brewing on his own, or grading essays, or sometimes, he was merely watching her brew while he pretended to grade or write lesson plans. She never realised it – she was that immersed in her task and almost nothing could pull her out of her concentration.

She was paler than she had been all year – pale and skinny. He knew she wasn't eating decently at any meal and he could guess why. While Minerva had given up on reading the Daily Prophet, some of his other colleagues had not – and he knew that there wasn't a day that went by without an in-depth story about Gabrielle Delacour's wedding robes. Not that he fully understood the change in the Weasley boy's mind – going from a threesome to being married to one woman did not seem to fit. But what had he expected? This particular Weasley had never shown great foresight – or responsibility.

Impulsive – that was what he was. Nothing more and nothing less.

And – he had to admit it – it was rather fun to put a wager on the duration of that particular marriage.

Five galleons said they would be divorced within the next six months (Minerva had put 5 on a year). Ten galleons said that the grounds for the divorce would be cheating (Poppy had put 10 against that). And a further ten said that it would be Weasley cheating (Pomona had put 10 against that).

Hermione, however, were kept from those fact of staffroom communication and even he (who had absolutely no experience with dumped women) knew that she was taking it rather badly. Oh, she was trying to put on a brave front, that was certain – but he saw her with her defences low. When she was brewing, she was herself and she couldn't pretend with him anyway. No, when she was waiting, for instance, to put another ingredient into the cauldron, she stared into nothingness and there was a distinct kind of sadness in her eyes.

Not that he would ever say anything about this to anyone. No – even Potter – whom he had met once more after that bloody reporter had found out that they were meeting (in the backroom of the Hog's Head – on Potter's insistence – a nice surprise) – wouldn't hear about this, although that boy seemed very concerned, well, almost worried about his friend and had, apparently, severed all his ties to Weasley.

And Minerva – she was watching Hermione like a hawk. But he knew Hermione – she was able to put on a brave face for long periods of time – and she was able to immerse, bury herself in her work. She was doing that a lot during lessons – he knew.

She brewed like a madwoman, made everything extra-precisely. Made no single mistake.

But sometimes, sometimes, he wondered if she was even sleeping.

He knew a rings-around-the-eyes-concealer-charm when he saw one.

And yet – there was nothing he could do – except give her those Tuesdays. She wouldn't talk much (which was very out of character for her – she didn't even ask something three Tuesdays in a row), she would just work hard and sometimes, didn't leave until after curfew. And he let her.

Though he wondered if that was the right way.

xx

She made her way down to the dungeons in a hurry – she needed to get down there – needed to show him that. Needed it, needed it. She knew it wasn't Tuesday (no, Monday) but he would be in his office and he would be able to explain all of this to her when nobody else had. When everyone else merely looked afraid of her.

She knew she was looking an awful fright but that was expected, wasn't it? The rings-around-the-eyes-concealer-charm had stopped the moment she had found the piece of filth and she had run her hands through her hair a dozen times. Not a good idea. But she had other things to think about – this – and how it had come to that.

But she understood the strange looks people were giving her now. She understood completely.

Oh, Hermione Granger was angry – seething. She knew that people were afraid of her when she was angry. Almost everyone – and she knew that he wouldn't be afraid. And he would be honest. And he would be discreet. He would tell no one if she couldn't hold back the tears that had been threatening to fall for well over a month.

She banged the door open (with her wand, of course) and stood, her left hand on her hip, the other clutching the paper, in the door to his classroom.

"Have you seen this?" she panted.

"Miss Granger, how nice of you to step by," he replied sarcastically.

"Have you seen this?" she held the paper up and tried to get her breath back.

He, instead of answering, rolled his eyes and looked back at a bit of parchment on his desk.

"Nobody else is honest with me. Did you know they were getting married?"

He looked up again – apparently to take a closer look at the paper.

"It was in the Prophet, which some members of staff do read," he drawled.

She snorted. "And nobody told me?"

"I think you're perfectly capable of reading a newspaper, Miss Granger."

"Fine. I did. You know, I did. This evening. The bloody Evening Prophet," she almost shouted and in long strides, was at his desk and banged it down – causing the full inkwell to spill over slightly.

xx

He had not read the Evening Prophet. Even worse than the Daily Prophet it concentrated on gossip these days – and half-truths. She, however, looked a sight with her wild hair, wild eyes and drawn wand. He understood that nobody had told her about the impending binding of her ex-boyfriend and that woman. It wasn't difficult to grasp why nobody had informed her seeing her like this. No doubt any student (and a few teachers) would be afraid of her – afraid of ending up at the wrong end of her wand.

He looked up at her quickly, then his eyes fell on the paper.

_**First official interview with Ronielle – exclusive!**_

_EP: How did you get to know eachother?_

_RW: We met during the Triwizard Tournament and since Fleur has married my brother, we kept in touch. _

_GD: Yes, he saved my life then. _

_EP: And now you're about to get married?_

_GD: Yes! We will be having lovely ceremony at The Burrow. Ronnie's house. _

_RW: (a blush on his cheeks and ears) Yes, my mother and father agreed to let us get married there. _

_EP: Was there a question whether you should be married there?_

_RW: Well, since the thing with Hermione, my mother was quite ang..._

_GD: Ronnie, don't. _

_EP: Don't what?_

_GD: Ronnie's parents are happy to host us. _

_EP: Is that so?_

_RW: That is so._

_EP: Speaking of Hermione Granger, there is still a bit of mystery about your breakup with her._

_GD: We don't speak about her. _

_RW (interrupting his fiancée): Hermione wasn't, erm, I mean, she was nice and all but what she did to me was..._

_EP: What are you insinuating?_

_GD: He's not insinuating anything. Hermione Granger is a taboo-topic. _

_RW: Yes. _

_[…]_

He looked up slowly, only to see into brown, angry, sad, tearful eyes.

"What is he insinuating? I didn't do anything wrong."

Severus Snape knew that he was definitely the wrong person in that situation – yet, she had chosen him (probably because she knew that he was not afraid of her) and she seemed on the very edge of a sort of melt-down. He waved his wand under the table and instantly, all valuables were charm-protected and all vials and cauldrons unliftable and unthrowable.

"I mean, what the hell does he think he's doing there? And when did they get engaged? And they're getting married already? That from Mister I-don't-want-to-end-up-like-my-parents-and-have-too-many-children? I mean seriously..." she stopped suddenly and he could see that she was holding on tightly to her wand – and biting her lip hard at the same time. "What does he think he's doing there?" she asked again, her voice soft – and hoarse. "What?" she asked again – and that seemed to open all flood-gates.

Within seconds she had stored her wand in a pocket, had her face in her hands and the tears were not only visible running down her cheeks, through her fingers but also quite audible in choked back sobs and strange hiccups.

It had been a long time since he had seen a woman cry like this (and he didn't want to remember those times he had) and he wasn't sure what to do. It had been simple when he had been a boy. He would hug his mother and tell her that he would protect her from father. But Hermione? He couldn't, wouldn't hug her. It just wasn't done and besides, he didn't even know how to hug – how to console.

"I'll get Minerva," he muttered, only partially directed at her. "Or Madam Pomfrey. Or Madam Sprout."

She looked up, through her fingers, and shook her head adamantly. "No. No. Don't need them."

He conjured a chair instead, and while, still sitting on his side of the desk, watched her (with a sense of relief) sitting down as well, her face still in her hands.

"I want my mum," she sobbed as quietly as it was probably humanly possible and continued crying.

He nodded – more to himself that to her – and once more, didn't know what to say. What to do.

_**xx**_


	23. Chapter 23

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

It was, doubtlessly, the biggest Patronus Harry Potter had ever seen. And It was indubitably – a horse. A pale, huge horse. He didn't remember anyone having that certain Patronus and when he cast a glance at Aberforth, who was at that very moment pouring a few firewhiskeys (because the news that he was working at the Hog's Head had been very good for business – especially since Abe made sure everyone coming in was drinking or eating something and paying for it – he wouldn't people just come in to stare). But the older man shook his head quickly.

The huge, pale horse came to a halt in front of him and he hurried quickly into the backroom – making the Patronus follow him. It wouldn't do to get a message in a crowded bar-room with at least ten reporters out there.

"Hermione found out about Weasley's wedding. Needs you."

Harry was stumped. He didn't know anyone with a Patronus like that that would send a message like this – except...the voice did sound of similar, but...no.

No, that couldn't be...he wouldn't.

And she wouldn't be there when she found out.

Yet – this was the only person he could think about whose Patronus could have changed. But then again, he hadn't seen that many after the war – none, come to think of it. And he hadn't cast one himself.

He clapped his hand on his forehead and lifted his wand. "Expecto Patronum," he said softly, thinking of happy memories, of his mother cradling him, his father smiling at him. And there it was.

"Oh my..." he whispered to himself seeing that Patronuses could change.

xx

Maybe, Severus Snape thought, the Patronus hadn't been a good idea. Not that he had known it had changed – which made sense – but he was sure Potter was too dense to understand that this was his – and that he needed help with the poor woman who still sat across from him, crying.

But suddenly, there was a Patronus bursting in through the door – but it wasn't the stag he had expected. No – it was an owl – a large owl, probably a snowy owl.

Yes, he had been shocked to see that there wasn't the usual silvery white doe in front of him, waiting for him to say something, or instructions, but a huge horse, pale, on the thin side but inquisitive and its nose nuzzling against his hand (though he hadn't been able to feel that) – but it made sense, didn't it?

Lily, the reason for the doe, was a mere memory these days, not something that held him hostage, not something which caused insomnia, rages, desperation, no. Lily was a childhood friend, the first girl he had fallen in love with (and the only one) but not his obsession any more. Some time between the end of the war and now, it had stopped – just stopped. Though why – he didn't know. It had just stopped to hurt when he thought about her.

But this horse puzzled him – and he made a mental note to look it up as soon as possible. But first, first, he had to sort out this mess with the crying woman in his classroom – just to imagine that someone could come in.

The owl Patronus waited for a moment, then spoke in Potter's voice. "Floo's open to the backroom. Bring her through."

Severus Snape couldn't help but roll his eyes. Now he even had to bring her there. But at least that would help her – talking with Potter (who could hug) and getting away from his classrooms and probably people who were on their way to see him (not that that was likely but one never knew what others were up to).

"Miss Granger," he got up quickly and stood next to her. "Follow me."

"Where are you bringing me?" she asked, hiccuping. Of course she had heard the message – even if she hadn't realised that he had sent his Patronus (a horse? Really?) first.

"To Potter," he answered in clipped tones and when she nodded and followed him, sniffling, a handkerchief pressed alternately to her eyes, dabbing at her eyes, then blowing into it.

"Why Harry?" she asked suddenly.

He didn't answer. Instead, he pointed at the fireplace in his office and the little pot next to it. "It's the backroom of the Hog's Head," he stated loud and clear.

She stared at him for a moment – either lost in thought, or too dense at the moment to understand. He waited for a bit, but seeing that she hadn't even grabbed floo powder yet, he lost his patience.

"Oh for the sake of..." he muttered, grabbed a hand full of the powder and squeezed in next to Hermione into the fireplace.

xx

She hated floo-travel. She hated it. It was worse than apparating and worse than portkey. No, the floo was the worst – soot all over you, soot in your eyes, your nose, your ears.

But going to Harry – not a good idea. She had seen him, talked to him so often during the last weeks (the headmistress allowed her Saturday in Hogsmeade) and he hadn't said a word. Nobody had said a word. Nobody had let her know. And what did they expect of her – regardless of her own feelings concerning Ron – that she would just be completely laid back about the entire matter? That she would be happy for the idiot to be getting married not even two months after they had broken up? Somersaults, maybe?

And truth be told, she felt betrayed – not only by Ron, but by all those around her, all those other students who simply stared and probably waited for her to explode, by Severus Snape, after she spent one night every week with him, the headmistress, who talked to her often in the corridors, and Harry.

No, all said and done, she felt incredibly alone. And she needed a hug.

Maybe, he knew that, maybe that was why he was squeezing next to her into the fireplace. Because he wouldn't, couldn't, daren't hug her. Or because he wasn't someone who touched other people. He had never touched her, at least. And she had never seen him touch anyone else. Not even a handshake. Nothing.

Maybe, he just didn't like touching others.

And granted, it would have been weird to be hugged by Severus Snape.

Still, as she thought that, in that exact moment, a strong arm came around her waist and held her there – then, spinning, spinning, spinning – and she landed, held by that strong arm and landed, more or less gracefully, in what she recognised as the backroom of the Hog's Head.

She looked up in Severus Snape's face and his arm was still there – for only a second, warm, encouraging, the touch she had craved earlier. She breathed deeply, and sighed subconsciously.

And that sigh caused him to pull his arm away rapidly.

xx

If he didn't keep her to him in any way, she would never get out at the right crate and would probably floo right to Knockturn Alley or into the Weasley's living room. He had no choice, really. And it seemed almost natural to wrap his arm around her waist, slim, too slim. He would have to let the house elves know to make sure she was getting only nutrient things to eat and maybe a potion to help her.

They landed – less gracefully than he was used to – but she was holding on to him as well – somehow. Or maybe it was just him that held her. Only because he wanted to get her to the Hog's Head safely. Deliver her to Potter – discuss a brief thing with him – then go back to Hogwarts, make sure that she would be brought back to the castle safely and he would go back to his brewing.

She didn't let go immediately and he had to steady her for a moment. Emotional wreck that she was at the moment.

"Hermione!" Harry exclaimed, finally noticing her pale face and red-rimmed, teary eyes and stormed towards her. "What happened?"

"The Evening Prophet happened", Snape groaned.

"Did you read the interview?" Hermione shrieked. "Did you read the shit he was talking about? With that girl? She's just 16. 16! And he's marrying her? What kind of sick stunt is that anyway?"

"What does she mean?" Harry looked at Severus Snape, a puzzled expression on his face.

"I think a cup of tea wouldn't come amiss," Severus replied quickly and shot a look at Hermione who had taken to pacing the backroom, at least angry now – not sad anymore.

"She's too young and he'll cheat on her anyway. The only question remains, two or three women next time," Hermione ranted and Harry was off. Quickly.

"16. With 16 I had other things on my mind, not getting married. Does she drop out of school then? Does she still go to school? 16 for heaven's sake! I mean I knew that Ron had a thing for this bloody half-veela, or rather her sister, but to marry her? Marry her? Ron's getting married," she ranted until she almost collided with Harry who balanced a tray with three cups of steaming, hot tea.

It was only a moment he had, and he knew it. The moment, Harry Potter put the tray down – he pulled the vial from his robes, glad that Hermione had her back on them and poured the entire contents into a cup of tea. Potter, of course, looked shocked.

But luckily, said nothing.

"Miss Granger, tea," Snape commanded and handed her the laced tea.

She shot him a graceful look and took a sip. Then another. And another. She sat down, then drank more. Her eyes began to droop, her head fell forward and her body relaxed as soon as she had finished the cup. She had stopped ranting after the second sip – and just sat silently.

"What did you do?" Harry asked suddenly, his voice betraying the slight anger he obviously felt.

"Calming draught mixed with mild sleeping potion," he replied steadily and pulled another vial out of his pockets. "She doesn't need to be out for long, and she shouldn't be but this was really getting too much."

"Couldn't you've just given her the calming draught then?"

"And let her hear when you tell me if there's any news on the whereabouts of her parents? I think not, Mister Potter," he snarled.

"Oh," Harry nodded. "Well, that P.I. Hermione hired is absolute rubbish, took the money and is not really looking."

"Don't bore me with the details."

"No details then. Yes, I located them. Just last week and yes, I am glad I did because I don't know how many of those portkeys to Australia I would have managed."

Severus smirked. "They are nasty, aren't they?"

"Yes, and I know exactly why you did what you did. I mean, not all, but why you told me that she misses her parents like crazy and talked me into finding them. Because those portkeys are..."

"Severus," a calm voice came from the door.

"Aberforth," he replied, nodding slightly.

"Good to see you caring," the old man said wisely.

He sneered. "As if."

"My brother was a fool, Severus," he said simply, keeping his eyes on him and away from Potter, "if he had allowed you a little more life – a little more of the love he propagandised, things would have been simpler."

"And you're beginning to sound just like him," he replied simply.

"Can we concentrate on the important matters right now?" Harry complained (obviously a little miffed because he didn't know what to do with that exchange between the two other men).

"You found her parents. Bring them back then," Aberforth, who was in on it stated (had to be – Potter did need days off for his task – it was lucky he had jumped in like this – but then again, Severus had never doubted it. He had this saving-thing after all).

"I tried to undo the memory charms. But it didn't work. All that happened was that Hermione's mother didn't remember which key belonged to which lock," he replied and hung his head.

Severus rolled his eyes. "So? Stun them and bring them here."

"Stunned Muggles don't do portkeying long distances well," Aberforth injected. "Severus, you have to go."

"I did enough already," he complained quickly.

"I can't do it and it was you who made me realise how much she misses them. Without you, I wouldn't have gone."

"Severus, you have to," Aberforth nodded. "And bring her out of that sleep, it looks more than unbecoming."

He was right – Hermione sat, hung, lolled at an odd angle in the chair, her head hanging to the side, drool gathering at the corner of her mouth.

"Arthur said, the entire family's livid about it," Harry changed the subject quickly. "He was here yesterday and knew about the wedding. He was quite angry at Ron."

"Why do they have it there then?" Aberforth asked curiously.

"Not having it there would mean almost the same as cutting Ronald Weasley off of the family," Severus said softly.

"And that's the sort of thing they don't need at the moment on top of all those idiotic headlines," Harry nodded. "Professor Snape, Arthur Weasley said Molly Weasley was wondering whether it was alright to write to Hermione. I suppose she wasn't really wondering but it was him that was holding her back but I didn't know what to say and said I'd think about it."

"For once a wise answer, Potter," Snape replied, smirking. "But I think she wouldn't mind."

"That's what I thought," Harry began, then hesitated. "How come she came to you?"

He pointed at the vial. "Give her that, she'll be much calmer. But she still needs a little consolation," he explained and with two long strides, stood in the fireplace once more and before either man had a chance to say another word, he had disappeared in a mass of green flames.

xx

"You know, lad, I never believed you, but he does like her, doesn't he?"

Harry grinned. "I think he doesn't even know himself. I wouldn't have realised if he hadn't looked at her that way once. It was like she was an angel. And nobody looks at anyone else that way if they're not liking them."

Aberforth chuckled. "Did you really find her parents?"

He nodded. "Yes. It wasn't pretty. Her father's working as help in a dentistry and her mother's cleaning. I'm sure this was not what Hermione had envisioned for them."

Aberforth raised his eyebrows. "So not looking too rosy?"

"Definitely not."

The white-haired man looked into Harry's eyes and smiled crookedly. "Write Severus an owl – with their address. They'll be back here before you can say good old England."

"You think?"

Aberforth shook his head. "I know."

_**xx**_


	24. Chapter 24

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

It was two days until Christmas when he decided it was time. It would be probably the best time – to have them home by Christmas, allow her to spend time with her family instead of at the cold school. Granted, even Harry Potter had been invited for the feast at the school and she wouldn't be that lonely with her best friend there but ever since she had admitted to wanting her mother, this was the only thing on his mind.

Well, no, not the only thing on his mind but he had put all his brewing aside for the time being because he wasn't sure which memory charms Hermione had actually used on her parents.

And he had found some, and some way to counter them. It would be no trouble, he thought. And to bring them back wouldn't be too difficult either. If they remembered who they were, the portkeying, which they had done before (when they had known about it – Potter had told him), shouldn't be too painful and nauseating for them. And he could do it in smaller steps. Australia to somewhere in Asia, from there to South-Eastern Europe, then England. Bring them home.

He had sent Potter to their former house, which Hermione had kept in pristine condition (oh, the wonders of being a witch), to ready everything, had made sure that Hermione herself was busy with research (he had to – and if she could find out which ingredient would best to counteract the sharpness of the ginger root in a mild calming draught) – and probably gladly so and he was at this moment, in his own quarters, bracing himself for the long-distance portkey.

He closed his eyes tightly, put his finger against the empty pack of cigarettes and felt himself spinning and his insides being squeezed together and it seemed an eternity (it was probably closer to two minutes) until he landed on his feet in front of a shabby looking house, on a lawn that was tried to be kept orderly.

He had seen the Granger's house in England – solid upper middle-class. A nice lawn, a nice, freshly painted house, nice furniture inside, a blend between old, antique and modern, new things, every single room being paid attention to – lots of books inside, the entire walls in the living-room lined with books and he had seen where she had gotten her love for the written word from.

"They sure read a lot," Potter had remarked when they had seen the house together for the first time – and he had only smirked.

This – this house in a suburb of Sydney had nothing of the solidity that family had experienced back in England – was struggling for the monthly rent, this was on the brink of being poor and it was high time, the Grangers were brought back to England. Back home.

He straightened his muggle shirt (too hot – in Australia was summer while he froze at home) and strode up to the house. An hour, within an hour, they'd have their lives back.

xx

Hermione walked through the castle. She had come across a section in a book that she didn't understand and she knew that even though most of the students had left, he would be in his office, or in his classroom and could clear up the questions she had. She wondered why he wanted to develop a new version of the calming draught, a milder version than the most common – but then again, she remembered with embarrassment how she had ranted in his classroom after she had found out about Ron's upcoming nuptials.

And that he had to bring her to Harry – who had calmed her with some tea and had held her tightly for a while until she felt better. Maybe a calming draught hadn't been too bad then – but neither of them had given her any, maybe because it was too strong and she would walk around drowsily for the rest of the day.

But no, her and Harry had talked and Severus Snape had come to pick her up a little before curfew and had accompanied her back to Hogwarts – even though she had flooed on her own this time.

Though – if she was being honest with herself – his arm around her waist would be most welcome again and in the days afterwards, she had often recalled the feeling – and wondered why she couldn't stop thinking about it at all. Why she had analysed every single aspect of his arm around her waist. It wasn't anything special. A lot of people flooed that way, especially when flooing for the first time – or being afraid of it. She had flooed numerous times like that with Ron – or Harry – or anyone, really, and yet, it had seemed very intimate with Severus Snape.

She had stopped to call him Professor Snape in her head. Not that she called him Severus there – but Severus Snape sounded very nice and just respectful enough.

And worst of all – she had begun, somehow to trust this man. She knew that she could go to him if she needed some time, some peace and he even let her rant. Though why, she didn't know. And she meant the why to all of those questions. He was just as surly as he had ever been, he only rarely gave her answers to her questions, and sometimes, he pretended not to listen but he always did. She felt it. She didn't know for sure, not every time, but sometimes, he just moved his head a little bit, or nodded a little and she knew he had been listening. But only sometimes and she hadn't been in the mood to talk really for a while.

It had been better after she had drained her tear-ducts on Harry's shoulder when she had heard about Ron getting married to that part-veela floozy but after that, it had gotten better. Especially after the news the night before.

She still smirked a little when she thought about the owl she had gotten down in the dungeons. Yes, she had been down there again. Brewing. What else was there to do?

_Dear Hermione,_

_I wanted to come personally but couldn't since the Hog's Head's packed again and Abe wouldn't let me get away. Anyway, Arthur Weasley was here this afternoon and he told me that Gabrielle's pregnant and that's why they're getting married. They only heard yesterday since both of them kept it quiet. I know it's not making this easier for you but I thought you should know and not hear it from the paper again. He's marrying her to do the decent thing._

_Love you,_

_Harry_

This was one of those rare instances when there was a reaction from Severus Snape. She had given him the letter to read and he had snorted. And then had mumbled something which had sounded incredibly like. "Serves him right to be stuck with a child at his age."

She had grinned at her professor – and had then laughed. He was right. Ron, who had been strongly opposed against having a family this early, who had agreed with her strongly when she had talked that she wanted to wait with children, if having any at all. She knew that he loved his big family but didn't want to add too many children to this family.

Now – him being a father with 19 – that was the complete opposite of what he had always wanted – and he would probably have to give up quidditch – or he would leave his family alone. Both things were bad. For him, not for her.

And then the letter from Molly, a few days before. She had apologised and apologised and apologised for Ron's behaviour, wrote that she would be welcome for Christmas but knew that she very possibly wouldn't come because of him and went on to explain that they didn't know what had come over Ron to make a decision like this so quickly (she hadn't known about the pregnancy yet) but that Hermione would always be a member of the Weasley family to her and her husband.

It was a nice letter – and it had moved her to something close to tears – and she was glad. But of course she wouldn't spend Christmas at the Burrow and she wouldn't give Ronald and Gabrielle the pleasure of going to their wedding. Not at all.

She would spend Christmas at Hogwarts, Harry had been invited to the feast, he would come, Professor McGonagall would be there, a few other teachers and Severus Snape – all of them were now her family. Or some form of it. A weird, dysfunctional form but the only thing she knew. With her parents gone.

And Christmas coming up.

She had paid attention to him once when he had opened his classroom – and when she knocked, and tried to open the door, and found it locked, she had spoken the password (Asphodel) and went inside. It was quite dark – and he was nowhere in his sight.

"Professor Snape?" she called, surprised for a moment how echo-y the walls were and only then realising that nobody was ever calling or shouting or yelling in that classroom.

"Professor Snape?" she called again – and when there was no answer again, she placed the heavy tome she hadn't understand on his desk and sat down on her usual place when she was brewing in her spare time and set to work.

A headache potion was always needed.

xx

He rang the doorbell and was only mildly surprised to see a woman who looked remarkably like Hermione in worn jeans and a striped blouse.

"Missus Wilkins?" he asked in his most friendly tone.

"Yes?" she answered suspiciously.

"Is your husband at home?"

She nodded, and before she could open her mouth to speak again, he had non-verbally stunned her. He knew it wasn't usually the way that should be dealt with – but both of them would probably fight tooth and nail if they knew what he was about to do. Or they would kill him. Or call the police. Or a doctor who treated mental illnesses.

"Monica? Who was that at the door?" a tired, but friendly voice came from the other end of the hallway and Severus Snape lifted his wand quickly and flicked it. Hermione's father, since his eyes had looked remarkably like hers, and since she looked like her, he wasn't in doubt that those were her parents.

He sighed, levitated both of them in the living room and began to chant in Latin, rapidly, but precisely. It would have been easier to do this while legilimensising them – but alas, they had their eyes closed and he had to do it just like that.

He had talked to Potter (and Aberforth) about this – and they had discussed various possibilities of how to proceed. Potter had suggested altering their memories again – making them think that they had only gone on vacation, that the war against Voldemort hadn't been so bad, that their daughter had been safe all along.

He was of the opinion that they should know the truth, that Hermione had altered their memories to keep them safe, to make sure they stayed alive. Even if it meant pain on both parts.

And Aberforth had petted his goat and had agreed – with Severus Snape.

So, democracy had won (and honestly, he wouldn't have altered their memories even if Aberforth had agreed with Potter) and now there he was, sorting out Hermione's mess.

Well, that wasn't completely right – he was sure she would be there to sort it out herself but Potter thought it would be a nice Christmas surprise (and he sort of agreed – maybe, though he hadn't said it and certainly never would) to bring back her parents.

He, on the other hand, also believed that bringing them back like this would cause problems – and that was why he had almost still agreed with Potter, even though, well, he didn't. He just didn't agree with Potter. Leaving them like this, no, actually sending them away like this, no memories of their former life, that was cruel, almost and forcing the memories back on them, well, he would be surprised if they weren't mad at their daughter. Or resent her.

He considered for a moment – only a quick moment to alter their memories according to Potter's suggestion and then decided against it. He had experienced what it meant to be lied to, not to be told the truth, what it meant to base something on a lie.

It wasn't pleasant and he didn't want anyone else to experience it. Even if it meant that Hermione's parents resented her for a while.

She would come running to him then anyway and he would send her to Potter again and the two of them would sort it out.

Though, why she kept on running to him was beyond him.

'Concentrate, Snape,' he told himself and continued to chant.

He would ennervate them, and they'd know. They'd have their memories, all the memories. And he wasn't looking forward to it – but again, his was the unpleasant task. Potter was merely shopping for groceries and watering plants and Hermione, for all he knew, was still in the library researching for a potion she would create – and if she got bored with that, she would hopefully work on the paper on the potion for the relief of the Cruciatus Curse.

And the next morning, she would see her parents again. And hopefully would stop running to him.

Yes, he was doing all that so she had her parents back and would talk to them – because, well, eventually, she would. She would break down in front of them, apologise profoundly, probably on her hands and knees, and then her mother would hug her and all would be fine. She would be able to discuss her life with someone other than him. And that was a good thing.

"Finite," he almost sang out the last word, and, quickly wiped a bead or sweat from his forehead. This was exhausting.

He breathed deeply, readied the portkey and pointed his wand at the couple. "Ennervate."

"What? Hermione?" Hermione's mother cried.

"Celia," Hermione's father only said.

"I'm Professor Snape, one of your daughter's teachers," Severus said carefully, his wand, inside his sleeve pointed at them, "in our world, a war raged against..."

"Voldemort. We know all this. It was dangerous, she told us that we should get out of the country and live somewhere else but we couldn't leave her alone there. It was dangerous for her. Oh God, is Hermione alright?" her father asked, her mother paling.

"Your daughter is fine. Her friend, Harry Potter managed to defeat Voldemort and she is fine. She wasn't injured and she's in fine health at school at the moment."

"She...it seems so hazy. Nigel, how did we come here?"

"Your daughter brought you here. She altered your memories to keep you safe."

The Granger's looked around furtively. "Excuse me?" Nigel Granger asked.

Severus Snape sighed. "I have a portkey here which will bring you back to Britain. Your home is ready for you and you'll be able to see your daughter in the morning."

The two of them looked at one another and, suddenly, both reached out and held hands.

"Hermione mentioned you. Severus Snape, right? A potions master."

He nodded his head – and knew that he would have to get them home as soon as possible. They weren't rational – they had memories flooding them and they needed a secure surrounding, and someone more sympathetic than him. Portkeying stunned wouldn't work – they'd vomit for the next week if he did that.

"Mister Granger, Missus Granger, I need to get you back to Britain now."

"But this, all our stuff is here."

"You can come back, or send Hermione back and she will get all this. The portkey will activate in the next minute," he used his stern voice and thrust the empty beer can towards them. "I take it you have portkeyed before?"

Both nodded – suddenly looking like scared rabbits. He still had it, he thought. His voice still did the trick, despite, or maybe because of the raspiness.

xx

She was tired and for the first time in a long time, felt let down by Severus Snape. Who knew where he was. It was Friday night, two days before Christmas, maybe he was out on a date. Or visiting someone close to him.

It was a possibility. He was free for the first time in his life, maybe he found himself a woman – a girlfriend. She wasn't sure why she disliked the thought. And why it was wrong. Why the image of him with a blonde (bearing a remarkable resemblance to the blondes in the first picture she had seen of Ron in the paper with other women), embracing, kissing, doing other, unspeakable things, was almost unbearable.

Carefully, she put her head on her arms, laying on the table. She felt comfortable in the classroom but she was sure that once he had a wife, or a girlfriend living with him, she wouldn't be welcome down there. Sometimes even now, she wasn't sure whether she was welcome. He never sent her away but he didn't look too happy to see her either.

She shrugged to herself and picked herself up, left a note on his desk telling him she had been there and why, and made her way to her dorm – back to that blasted dorm with Ginny. The looks that girl gave her were unpleasant to say the least. Alternating between smug, triumphant and glaring ones.

And not for the first time, Hermione Granger realised that she would have left school again, if it hadn't been for her own determination – and Severus Snape with the quietness of his dungeons.

xx

Severus Snape rolled his eyes. Potter, ever doing the idiotic thing had made a sparkling banner, saying _Welcome home, Mr and Mrs Granger_ and stood in front of it, grinning madly when he arrived with the two of them – both incredibly pale, almost green-looking and clutching to the pack of cigarettes that had brought them home from Turkey.

"Hello!" Harry beamed.

"Potter, I'll leave you to it. Good luck," Snape sneered.

"What do you mean?" he hissed, staring at the obviously shocked Grangers.

"You'll find out. I'll be here with Her...Miss Granger at ten in the morning," he turned to leave the living room they had portkeyed into and wanted to apparate as soon as he was out of their eyes, but was held back by the same of Celia Granger.

"Thank you, Professor Snape."

He turned and looked over his shoulder – before he nodded and walked outside, confused.

_**xx**_


	25. Chapter 25

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Christmas Eve. Hermione Jean Granger had always loved Christmas Eve. There were customs in her parents' house she had known since she was a girl. She knew them – and cherished them. And in the last two, maybe three years, maybe four, all had gone downhill. All had been lost.

She sat in a dark alcove, her knees drawn to her chest. It had – of course – begun to snow the night before and she couldn't bear to see the courtyard under a blanket of white. At least not on that day.

Christmas Eve morning was full of preparations, the entire house smelling enticingly like Christmas, like wrapped presents, the Christmas tree, her parents would fight over nothing, then laugh, then kiss and hug and she would sit there (much like she was now) and watch over the entire thing, always watching the presents, trying to figure out which ones were hers, which ones her parents would give each other and she would try to find out which she would pick to unwrap that night (one on Christmas Eve, the rest on Christmas morning). They did not use stockings (well, there were still stockings but usually only sweets in them) since most of the things she wanted, and got, were too big – and books too heavy.

She always picked the shiniest, or the one most likely not to be a book. Her parents usually got a reading list from her in the middle of November and they, ever dutiful, bought most of them. Those were the upsides of being an only child.

The afternoon was full of bustle around the house, her mum usually already preparing for the family who would descend upon them on Christmas – or had done that until she had been in her first year. That year, there had been a fight – a big fight between her father and his brother – and ever since, there was little contact between them. Her maternal grandmother, the only grandparent she had known, really, had died two years later. After that, there hadn't been a family meal on the 25th. It was only them. Not that it was bad, they still had turkey and Christmas Pudding afterwards – only, it was just the three of them.

But Christmas had been, was, her favourite day of the year. The morning, she would spent on the floor with her mum and dad, wrapping paper surrounding them, her presents strewn around her, her nose in three different books at the same time. Eventually, her mum would snuggle up to her dad (after they had moved to the couch) and she had stayed in her pyjamas until quite late, had read, had adored her presents and had only changed when mum asked for help in the kitchen.

All three of them would help, would prepare, and they'd eat together.

Then, some more enjoying the presents, the Queen's Christmas Speech (with bets beforehand which colour she'd be wearing), lazing around, talking, playing a game or two probably, some more talking and eventually, her parents would bicker over something again, and they'd all go to bed.

A lovely, happy day.

But with Hogwarts interfering in her life, with her being a witch, it had gotten more difficult and she had been at home less.

She missed it. She missed it. She missed it.

It was Christmas Eve morning and she sat, without breakfast, in a dark alcove, curled together, in a draughty school, away from her family.

"Brilliant," she muttered.

She fought hard not to fall too deeply into that kind of despair that she detested. The kind of self-pity she hated.

But then again, she would have to allow her some sadness. Five more minutes, then she would check if the presents she had were all wrapped properly (even though she knew they were), would send those for Mister and Missus Weasley, as well as for Neville and Luna off by owl, would wonder, again, whether she should really present Professor Snape with the first draft of the paper she had written for Christmas or give him the antiquarian muggle book on potions (some of the recipes might actually work, she thought) she had found during her summer in London, or keep it to herself and whether she really dared to give Professor McGonagall the scarf in red and gold she had knitted. Probably not. It was just not seemly. She was still a student and those were her teachers.

But maybe she would. She just didn't know yet – but she had both of the things wrapped and the paper written out neatly on parchment.

She sighed a little and uncurled her legs. No sense in feeling sorry for herself.

xx

He was in a foul mood. She was nowhere, absolutely nowhere. Not in the tower, not in the dungeons, not in library, not in the courtyard and he wasn't sure where else to look for her.

"Damn Potter," he grumbled. Potter couldn't have picked her up himself – could he? He was still striding through the castle as if he owned it but that morning, no, no, he couldn't. That morning, he had to be with the Grangers, _preparing_ them. What was there to prepare? A daughter was meeting her parents for the first time in how-ever-long.

They'd be tears, sniffled apologies, a lot of hugs, kisses and that'd be it. And he would make sure that neither he nor Potter would witness it.

He strode towards the Gryffindor Tower again, hoping that she had returned there and that they could actually still be on time.

"Password?" the Fat Lady asked him.

"Christmas Cheer," Snape grumbled.

"Professor Snape," Hermione smiled and was suddenly behind him.

"Miss Granger, what do you think you were doing not being at breakfast? I have to play messenger for your friend Potter and seem to be doing nothing but trying to locate you."

"Erm, what?"

He merely shock his head – angry at himself for his outburst and grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her through the portrait hole.

"Where are we going?" she asked curiously when he pulled her towards the fireplace and extracted a small pouch of floo powder from his pockets.

"A Christmas present from Potter," he merely stated and pushed her gentler than necessary into the fireplace and once more, squeezed in next to her.

And of course he had to wrap his arm around her waist – she didn't know where she was going and the Granger's fireplace was only open for a little amount of time – exactly that time that he needed to get her there and Potter out.

"Pres...," she managed to get out before they were spinning again.

Yes, she had gained a little weight, Aberforth's cooking was very nutritious and apparently, his nutrition-potion had helped as well. Her ribs weren't so prominent under his hands any more and instead, it was the soft, wonderful feeling of a woman in his arm.

No. Wrong thought.

Definitely a wrong thought.

Not wonderful. Student. Granger, know-it-all. Hand-waving.

'Yes,' he told himself and was infinitely glad when the spinning stopped. He was not glad, however, when the woman almost doubled over and he had to hold her with both arms to keep her from falling. Why people were always falling out of fireplaces was incomprehensible for him.

And then – there she was. In her parents' living room and she gaped, wide-eyed, open-mouthed, the shock written all over her face and she clung, albeit subconsciously to the arm that had been holding her the entire time.

She was holding his arm.

"Miss Granger," he hissed but she didn't hear – she just stared straight ahead at Potter, grinning again, standing just in front of her parents. Or maybe she was staring at her parents – he wasn't sure which, but she was still holding onto his arm.

That was, until he took her hand in his and finger after finger, removed it from the vice-like grip on his arm.

"Potter," he scowled then and beckoned him to himself – even though Hermione seemed to be staggering and he actually wanted to keep her steady.

But no – this was her thing, her parents, her family and he, and Potter, had no place there. Besides, he could not deal with a teary Hermione. Not that. Not again. Especially since he really didn't remember how to hug. And since he knew that the contact, the physical contact would not be welcomed.

"We'll leave you to it then," Potter beamed, and, taking a bit of the floo powder from Snape, grinning at him, was off.

"Professor Snape," Hermione turned to him and looked up. "What...?"

"Your parents will explain," he said softly but before he could step into the fireplace, she had his arm in her hold again. "But..."

He scowled, shook his arm free and decided that he needed a strong cup of tea and flooed, before she could hold him back again, to the Hog's Head.

xx

No matter where they were going, his arm around her was worth it – definitely worth it, she thought, as they were spinning through the fireplaces together and for a moment, she thought he moved his fingers just a little, almost like a caress.

No, what a stupid thought. Severus Snape caressing her side.

For one second, she allowed herself that fancy thought – and that second was too long. She didn't concentrate on landing in a fireplace and was quite inelegantly, thrown out of it.

It took her a moment to open her eyes properly – and with his arm still around her waist, it was even more difficult.

No matter – she would have to. And opened her eyes to a room that she had not expected. And to faces she had not expected.

She stumbled once more and both his arms kept her from falling over. She knew that for an outsider, this might have looked like one fall – like she was merely stumbling out of the fireplace but it was far from the truth.

Her parents. Standing in the middle of their living room. And Harry a little in front of them, grinning, beaming like a supernova, like a madman. She could do nothing but stare. Stare. And stare some more.

Parents. Mum. Dad. In their living room. Just standing there, looking – looking how exactly?

Hermione wasn't sure. There seemed to be a glint of anger in her father's eyes and – oh no – disappointment? - in her mother's.

She couldn't help it. She really couldn't. It was a blur and she gripped on tightly to what was closest. She didn't care that it was Severus's arm that she was holding onto tightly. She just needed an anchor at the moment.

And she desperately wanted to speak, wanted to say something but she couldn't.

And – she had envisioned this quite differently. Actually completely differently. She had imagined to rush into her mother's arm, then get an affectionate one-armed hug from her father – but nothing. They just stood there and she just stood there and some part of her brain registered that someone said something and that Harry disappeared through the floo and that suddenly her anchor was gone and that she gripped it tightly again and asked him, somehow to stay because this was not how she had wanted this to happen. Because they were just standing there, still like statues.

And some part of her brain expected them to just vanish again, or crumble down on the floor in a bit of dust as they had in some nightmares she had had before. But they just stood and Severus disappeared.

"Mum? Dad?" she finally found her voice, croaking, hoarse, not sounding like herself.

"Hello Hermione," her mother replied, smiling a little. Not the smile she had wanted to see.

"Hermione," her father echoed.

"How did you, I mean, I thought, I, erm, I, God, mum. Dad. Are you okay, how did you come here?" she stuttered – she knew. And she staggered towards them. Carefully. A step at the time. Baby-steps, actually.

"Apparently we were placed in Australia. And Professor Snape brought us here yesterday," her father explained, still standing still.

"Severus brought you here?" she gasped. "He? What about Harry?"

"Harry made sure we found our way around here again. Apparently, nothing is missing," Nigel Granger said swiftly.

Hermione's eyes widened. "Why should something be missing, dad?"

"We've been away for a long time. Who knows what happened here."

"I sealed the house. I only came here to check when I could. But the plants were watered by magic and all kept in order and dust-free and I only wanted to pro..."

"Protect us," Celia Granger snorted. "By lying and by making us believe we were two completely different people. Do you know how we lived in Australia and to find out that we don't have to make sure not to spend too much money because we're actually quite well off and that it was never necessary to live next to those louts and rowdies? That we could have actually afforded a home like this? If you had given us a warning? Or if you had just kept your wand to yourself?" Her snorting mean tone turned into yelling – angry, spiteful.

Hermione took a step back – she had only tried to do the right thing. Only that.

"Celia...please, we agreed," her father tried to reason.

"We didn't agree, Nigel. She's done this to us, she sent us away, she didn't even ask. It was, oh, there's Voldemort and well, it might be a bit dangerous and bang, a minute later, I find myself unemployed in Sidney," she yelled.

Hermione tried to catch a breath. A steady breath. But it didn't work.

This was not at all how she had wanted this to go. She had wanted to explain. "Mum, dad, I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry," her mother mocked. "Not good enough."

"Hermione, I think it might be better if you left now," Nigel Granger said softly.

"But, I'm...I'm so sorry, I'm sorry."

"Your mother is upset and I'm not sure I like this situation at the moment," he tried to reason. "And since..."

"You're throwing me out," Hermione whispered hoarsely.

"No, we're not throwing you out. We just need a little more time," he said softly.

Hermione nodded simply and bit her lip. And in defeat, she turned to leave.

"And don't bring that wand when you come back!" her mother yelled after her.

xx

She apparated straight to the gates of Hogwarts. Life, the way she saw it, could not get worse. And it was Christmas. She might just as well have killed her parents.

No – she was unfair. She understood their anger. Their disappointment. Maybe she hadn't tried hard enough to convince them to leave England, to take on new identities for the time being. Maybe she had just overreacted and she should have talked it over and over with them. They were reasonable people, mostly. But they hadn't wanted to leave England.

And she hadn't been quite honest about the dangers they were in.

But really – how bad could life get? Ron gone, school not her usual forte, Ginny a bitch to her, blaming her, and now that disaster with her parents.

She shook her head.

Happy Christmas indeed.

And at that thought, the dams broke again – even though she did her best not to let them and she ran, blinded by tears up to the castle.

xx

He had a cup of tea, had kept Potter from going back to the Grangers, and had taken his leave, sure that he had his lab all to himself until the start of term.

Yes, it would be awkward between Hermione and her parents but they were all more or less intelligent people and would at least try to understand. And by the end of the holidays, they'd be a happy family again.

'Or not,' he thought as he looked over his shoulder and saw her running towards him, quite in a daze it seemed.

Something had obviously not gone well. Or had gone absolutely rotten.

"Miss Granger," he began and before he knew it, she had ran straight into him, and was clinging tightly to his robes. And really – because he didn't know what to do, and where to put his arms, they found their way around her, to her back, slowly and carefully.

_**xx**_


	26. Chapter 26

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Big, fluffy white flakes were falling all around them, on them, blanketing them with a soft, white, fluffy layer. He saw them melting slowly on her shoulders, soaking the fabric of her coat. He was glad he had made sure that she had worn one before he pulled her into the floo to get to her parents.

"They hate me."

Her hair was wet, but she clung so tightly to him, sobbing into his chest and moulded her body to his that she didn't even react to his efforts to pull away, didn't even react to his constant repetition of "Miss Granger". She stood and seemed to cry her eyes out. Hugging him!

Severus Snape did know that there were certain words, phrases, things people said in situations like this, to console, to soothe, whatever. But he couldn't. And why should he? He had never consoled anyone (well, he had – but that had been his mother and that had been in another lifetime) and he didn't seem to be the person to do it anyway.

He was scary, for Heaven's sake. First years began to cry when he started on them. Second years cried when he continued and he prided himself on the fact, that during this term, he had made two sixth years cry. But that never distressed him – never at all.

But her there, that did, most certainly. True, Hermione Granger wasn't someone who needed a lot to make her cry – or at least had been this way when she was younger – but this was different. She was clinging to him for one – and then, well, he wouldn't say exactly that he felt guilty but it had been him after all, who had brought her parents back, he had let Potter and Aberforth talk him into making it a surprise.

So, in a way, it was his own fault that he now had a sobbing mess in his arms.

But – some part of his brain – a little part, but a part nevertheless – couldn't deny how good it felt to hold her.

Oh no – as the part of his brain which had those thoughts grew bigger, he knew he had to stop it.

"Miss Granger, this is not you," he pushed her away none too gently but held her by the upper at a distance. "Stop that infernal sniffling this instant and pull yourself together."

xx

She couldn't help it. She had longed for some physical contact ever since Harry had embraced her when she had heard about Ron and Gabrielle. Someone to hold her, to comfort her and to tell her that things would be okay again and when he tried to stop her, she hadn't thought any more – she had just acted on pure instinct.

And he hugged back. He held her very tightly to him, once or twice rubbing his hands over her back and she found that a lot more comforting than all that patting and stroking that all the other people always did. He just held her and stood, not rocking, but stock still, unmoving, but not repulsed.

Maybe, it was just the makings of her cried out brain, but he shielded her from everything that was around.

His robes, otherwise looking so bat-like, protected her from the snow that was falling heavily, and surrounded her like a cloak, sheltering her from everything outside, his arms, hands were holding her to his chest and he didn't complain once, he said nothing but the occasional, "Miss Granger" in a soft, soothing tone.

And that was so comforting that together with his scent, the blend of lavender, musk, coriander and mostly peppermint she felt so safe in his embrace, that she didn't really want to ever leave it.

"Miss Granger, this is not you," he said softly and then, suddenly, he pushed her away, gripped her upper arms and stared so deeply into her eyes that she could only hope that he wasn't using Legilimency on her. But what if he did? There wasn't much to see at the moment – she wasn't ashamed (well, just a little) to realise that she felt safe in his arms, that her parents had basically thrown her out, that her mother had yelled at her, that she still missed the idea of being with Ron (not Ron per se – just the idea of being a girlfriend), that she enjoyed being in the dungeons, that she loved brewing, that she wanted to spend more time with him – getting to know him – no.

What was that thought?

She searched her own brain for a moment – and there it was, the realisation that hit her like a tonne of bricks.

She wanted to be his friend. And she wanted him to be her friend, the one to give her advice, the one to listen to her.

A sniffle escaped her throat at the thought. He would never consent to this.

"Stop that infernal sniffling this instant and pull yourself together," he said suddenly.

He was right. This wasn't her and she needed to stop that crying and the pitying and had to pull herself together. He was right – she fought, she didn't give up and she didn't succumb to misery. No, she did something about it. Even though she knew that the answers to her troubles could not be found in books – or anywhere.

She nodded and looked up at him – knowing at her eyes were red-rimmed, her nose probably even redder and streaks of tears decorating her cheeks. Her hair was probably even wilder from running and apparating and flooing. But she didn't care at all.

"I finished the first draft of the paper," she said, her voice trembling – and she felt the cold and wet seeping through her clothes, only then noticing how much warmth he had offered with his embrace.

He arched his eyebrows and, faintly, she thought she could see the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly.

"And I have a Christmas present for you," she blurted – before she could stop herself. But with that, she got a reaction – an unusual reaction from him.

"You have?" he asked, very surprised, and she had never seen his face this – dare she think it? – open.

"It's nothing big," she backpedalled quickly. "Just a book I thought you might like."

That was when he managed to get his face back into the usual mask. He nodded curtly.

"I just thought that you might like and you've done so much for me and..." she trailed off and shrugged. And she knew, that in addition to her apparently already messy appearance, she was blushing as well.

"That's..."

"No, Professor Snape, I just wanted to thank you," she looked up – despite the blush and smiled weakly. "For everything."

He nodded again. Just nodded.

"Yes," she added rapidly and she knew she had to get away before she embarrassed herself even more. She nodded back, smiled a little and, hurriedly, rushed towards the castle.

xx

He clapped his hand in front of his mouth as soon as she was out of sight. What she'd said – it repeated itself over and over in his head. Over and over again.

"I finished the first draft of the paper...And I have a Christmas present for you...It's nothing big. Just a book I thought you might like...I just thought that you might like and you've done so much for me and...No, Professor Snape, I just wanted to thank you. For everything."

Thank him. Present. Book. Thank him. Finished first draft. Christmas present. Thank him. For everything. A book he might like. A present to thank him. A present to celebrate Christmas. A present. To thank him.

He bit his lip – hard, almost drawing blood.

He hadn't bitten his lip in forever.

A present. For him.

He shook himself. A flight of fancy of his mind. Or maybe just the deed of a Gryffindor who always felt compelled to do the right thing.

That was it – he hadn't been given a lot of gifts in his life – he hadn't been decorated after the war along with the rest of the heroes. He had only been thanked by a limited number of people – Minerva, most of the staff, most of the Weasleys (all but Ronald and Miss Weasley and George), Potter, of course. He couldn't remember whether she had thanked him – but she probably had – and now she felt that he should be given a present.

That was it – simple. A thank you for his work. Nothing more, nothing less. Probably a boring old Potions book that he already had – or maybe?

She had been clinging to him. Closely. Had cried into his robes – he even had the evidence still on there, he noticed when he looked down. And found himself, suddenly, fingering the whitish stains while he slowly walked up towards the castle.

He wasn't revolted – no, oddly enough, he wasn't. But for the umpteenth time in the past weeks, he wondered why she had chosen him – why she turned to him.

Probably – the Christmas present was just that – and not some sentimental thank you for...

"Severus!" Minerva came rushing towards him, her robes flying behind her, her hand on her chest, panting.

"Minerva?" he sped up and was by her side in a second. "What happened?"

"What did you do to Hermione?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Poor girl ran straight past me again, and she looked like she had been crying. And I know you left with her."

He groaned. "The evil snake made the poor cub cry again," he sneered. "Or maybe you should ask her why she was so distressed," he added and walked away from her. She followed him (he hadn't expected anything less) and grabbed his wrist, and, with the strength only an angry woman has, held him back.

"Explain," she commanded.

"Potter thought it would be a nice idea to find her parents and bring her back as a Christmas surprise. Unfortunately, your most prized lion doesn't have the ability to undo Granger's memory charm and forced me to go. I brought her parents back and this is where she came from and I suppose why she cried," he explained coldly, yanked his wrist from her grip and strode away.

"Severus," she cried again and followed him, "stop running, will you? I'm an old woman."

He rolled his eyes and turned around. "What?"

"You brought them back?"

"I suggest a hearing aid," he smirked, "seeing as you're an old woman and you're hearing seems to be impaired."

Instead of a verbal comeback – something he had expected – the headmistress smiled. "You're back."

He shook his head, utterly confused of the day's events. "And you're insane," he muttered and walked away – leaving a grinning Minerva McGonagall behind.

xx

She did not feel like dinner in the Great Hall. She didn't feel like facing people at all. Not that many would be there, but it was Christmas Eve and she just – well, she would get something to eat later.

But then again – she had already told Severus that she had gotten him something for Christmas and well, since she couldn't unwrap a present on Christmas Eve, at least he should. On the other hand, he was probably somewhere, doing something. Honestly, did she expect him to sit in his office or his classroom even on Christmas Eve?

She still knew the password to the classroom though – and from there, she could get to his office – probably and put a note there together with the wrapped present.

She nodded to herself and pulled a piece of parchment from her book bag next to her bed, and then, holding it in her hands, decided that she needed to just quickly jot something down – and bring it there – before she lost her nerve again. Even though, well, why shouldn't she give him a present. It wasn't like she was doing something forbidden.

_Thank you again, and happy Christmas_

she wrote down, then, closing her eyes for a moment, signed it,

_Hermione. _

xx

Tiredly, he ran his hands over his face. Just a quick look at the cauldron bubbling in the classroom (though why he hadn't used his private lab, he didn't know – oh yes, he did – because she had been brewing with him and this particular potion needed to mature for two weeks without being moved), then he could go back to his own chambers for a quick sit in his chair before he had to drag himself all the way up to the Great Hall for dinner.

How he hated those dinners – those feasts – with merrily singing colleagues, who, once a year (or rather, a hundred times a year – when the students weren't watching) indulged in too much alcohol. That lead, automatically, to a daft Sibyll Trelawney, who was even more inebriated than usually, and who would, heavy-handedly, try to get every single male single-or-not instructor under the mistletoe.

And this year, it would, indubitably, lead to a teary Minerva, who would apologise a thousand times over, an equally teary Pomona Sprout who would cling to him (and please – this wasn't the nice clinging that Hermione had done – Sprout's clinging always dragged him down), a slurring Rolanda Hooch, who suggested party games after the students had left the Hall, Flitwick, who told every year the same story about how his wife had cheated on him with an Italian half-goblin, Hagrid, who would cry openly in the corner (and would probably also try to hug him – and that would lead to his instant death – cause: squashing), Vector, who giggled idiotically, Filch and Pince dancing, and last but not least, Aurora Sinistra, who would eventually start singing silly muggle songs on the table, and, if the eggnog was strong enough and she had had enough, would even begin to take her clothes off. Not to speak of the new Muggle Studies teacher Silvanus Osiander, and the new Defence against the Dark Arts instructor, Belinda Kuhn, both of whom he didn't know yet but were sure to develop their own ticks while getting drunk.

What a nice prospect.

And that on top of the day he already had.

And without any alcohol for himself. No, he kept his promises – even those given to himself and if he promised to himself that he wouldn't drink, well, he wouldn't drink. Not ever again. Or probably...no. Not for the time being. Not ever.

He shook his head – too many thoughts in his head today. Definitely.

He stalked down the corridor to his classroom when his instincts told him that something wasn't right. Something wasn't the way he had left it. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and gripped it tightly.

He had absolutely no illusions about the fact that there were those out there who wanted to see him dead – on both sides. And he had to be prepared for that, even at the castle.

And yes, he had been right – the door to his classroom was only ajar – and he would never leave it that way. It was password-protected. Granted, not the most original one – Asphodel – but still. And he had made certain that nobody but him and the headmistress knew but one never knew. Eavesdropping was known not to be uncommon.

Carefully, inch by inch, he opened the door – and at first, saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. The tables, benches, everything was in perfect order, the cauldron he had been working on stood in the front, next to the one Hermione had been using.

He gripped his wand a little tighter and as quietly as he could (and that was very quiet), stepped in. And was quite surprised.

xx

"Alohamora!" she cried for the tenth time but the damn door simply wouldn't budge. Probably another bloody password that nobody could guess. "Erm, Wolfsbane. No, he wouldn't use that," she muttered, oblivious that that certain him was listening to her, watching her, "Polyjuice. No. Potion. No. Erm, Monkshood. Cauldron. Knotgrass. Moonstone. Runespoor. Scarab Beetle. Aconite. Fluxweed. Damn bloody shit," she cursed. None of those words opened the door. "Open Sesame," she grumbled.

She considered briefly to just put the present on his desk at the classroom – but she was determined now. And nothing could stop a determined Hermione.

"Lil..." she started.

"My my, Miss Granger," a familiar voice behind her spoke softly and she turned rapidly, the wrapped gift in her hand with the note attached, clattering on the floor. She flushed brightly red.

"Pr-professor Snape, I just wanted to..."

"Get into my office?" he interrupted again. "Dare I ask why?" the glint in his eyes was bad – very bad. That meant detention for the rest of her life. "And how, if one may ask, did you get into the classroom?"

"Erm, you said the password the other day and I thought, well, I thought you knew when I left the book and my question here the other day," she bit her lip. "I, erm, just wanted to give you..." she bent down and picked up the book – the note laying forgotten where it had sailed underneath a table. She rushed towards him and held out the book.

"I, erm, I hope you like it, I know it's a muggle book but I'm sure..."

"Would you like me to unwrap it first before you apologise?" he asked, his tone less sneering than usual.

"Erm, yes, sorry."

He nodded quickly and unwrapped the book. And his eyebrows rose to unknown levels and he made something that sounded a tiny bit like a gasp. Even though, that was probably just her imagination. Severus didn't seem the type to gasp.

xx

He had seen the piece of parchment falling to the floor and sailing underneath the table but he was relieved (wait – relieved?) that she had somehow snapped out of her crying, depressed fit and was actually trying to break into his office to put the present there, that he decided, that this note could be read later – when she had, hopefully forgotten about it.

And of course, she made stumbling excuses and he couldn't hold back on a comment – even though, he had to admit, the thought of getting a present alone was – well, for want of a better word – mind-boggling. He had never – never – gotten a present by a student before (even though he knew that other teachers were basically showered in them) and not even his Slytherins did it. They knew that they couldn't gain anything by it – so they just didn't bother.

But this, this was something else.

With as much care as he could muster, he unwrapped the present, a book, of course, as she had said. And couldn't help the gasp that escaped his mouth.

"Household Remedies? Where did you get this? Miss Granger, do you know what it is?"

She shook her head. "An antique bookstore in London, sir," she replied quickly. "I thought that some of the recipes might be altered and actually used."

He looked at her and shook his head. "This is based on a Potions book, Moste Usefulle Potions, which fell into the hands of muggles at the end of the 17th century. They rewrote it, altered the potions, substituting the ingredients, apparently and printed it. There aren't many of those still in existence and most are in some attic of some dotty old grandmother who doesn't know what treasure she has up there gathering dust. I've tried to get my hands on it for years. And all I could find was a battered copy with splatters all over it – half the recipes indecipherable. Do you know..."

He stopped himself – and only then noticed that his eyes were wide and that she looked at him with interest – and – glee.

"I'm glad you like it," she said softly.

"You can't give me that," he said suddenly and shoved the beautiful looking book back into her hands. Well, shoving wasn't exactly right, he put it carefully into her hands.

"Of course I can," she nodded, "if you promise that I can read it when you're finished and that I'm allowed to copy some things out of there."

He shook his head but when she stepped even closer and put the book back into his hands, and with her little hands, closed his fingers over it, letting him hold it tightly, he nodded suddenly.

"Thank you," he said hoarsely.

She shook her head this time, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I always preferred gift-giving to gift-receiving," she whispered, and, putting her hand quickly on top of his, still holding the book, she smiled fully at him. "Happy Christmas, Professor Snape."

He didn't know what to say. This was some kind of present. Something he had never expected. Not from her – not from anybody to be honest. "Happy Christmas, Miss Granger," he heard himself reply. "I don't have anything for you."

He swallowed hard as she cocked her head to the side and her look changed from happy to pensive. "You already have," she said mysteriously.

He raised his eyebrows – trying desperately to shake off the shock of receiving such a gift.

"Thank you for being there for me," she added, and, after squeezing his hand, she smiled openly at him once more, and walked away.

He swallowed, tore his eyes from the book and turned, watching her walking out of the classroom.

"Oh, and Miss Granger?" he knew he had to do this.

"Yes, sir?" she turned.

"10 points from Gryffindor for breaking into a classroom."

xx

She smiled again – it felt good to smile. "And detention?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes. After Christmas."

She nodded and hurried out of the room before he could take any more points. No, this had certainly been the right decision. She had never seen him so open before, never so excited about anything, never so speechless almost. So human.

He had apparently obviously adored the book – and she hadn't really known about the history of it – but even so, seeing him almost smiling, it made her feel better. Loads better.

Hopefully, after that present, he would begin to trust her. She was on her way of making him her friend. And he would be a friend who stood by her – she instinctively just knew.

_**xx**_


	27. Chapter 27

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Severus Snape pulled the covers up to his chest, his pillow against the headboard of his bed, himself propped up on it, the precious, wonderful, amazing, lovely, fantastic, marvellous, terrific, extraordinary book in his hands, handling it like he imagined a parent would handle a newborn.

It was in pristine condition really – and it had the smell of a book that hadn't been opened in decades.

He sighed deeply – and wondered, not for the first time – how valuable the book would be, forgotten recipes for forgotten potions, manipulated by muggles to work for them – and wondered, not for the first time either – what had made her do it – and, even more importantly, what he could do to repay her for this.

He knew common courtesy – but it wasn't that. He didn't want to give her something because she had given him something of incredible value, not only money-wise, but it was that kind of value that nobody could buy.

Even after she had known the truth about the book – she had still given it to him. With a smile. And a squeeze of her hand on his. And those honest, honest eyes. He leaned back for a moment – and tried to remember the last time, he had been given a present just like this, not out of obligation, not because someone (well, Albus or Minerva) had felt he needed a new scarf or a new pair of gloves or socks – and came up with, well, Lily.

Lily had given him books for his birthday, usually, since she spent her Christmasses at home, while he usually tried to stay at school – out of his parents' hair, and because his birthday and Christmas were so close together. He still had those books – muggle books, novels, mostly, the classics. But then, of course, it had stopped and he knew for certain that he hadn't gotten a Christmas present such as this since his 5th year.

It astonished him that Hermione had thought of him that way – but then again, yes, she came running down to the dungeons at least once a week – brewing, talking a little, confessing that she liked the quiet atmosphere down there. And he hadn't pushed her away. For once in his life.

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, since he heard Aurora Sinistra singing Barry Manilow songs in his head again (he wasn't entirely stupid – and the nosy neighbour woman when he had grown up and returned to Spinner's End had loved Barry Manilow. Idiotic music), and something about wanting to be someone's lover. Horrible song with a lot of moaning in it. Or perhaps it wasn't – perhaps that was just Sinistra's rendition of the obviously modern song – but by that time, most of the staff was distracted by her taking her robes off and throwing them somewhere – his clue to leave (before anyone could hug him).

And then, a nice cup of tea and his bed with a book. What luxury. What utter luxury.

He pushed the thought of the stripping Sinistra from his mind and concentrated on the book in his hands.

He definitely needed a present for her. And quick.

xx

She fell into bed with a smile on her face. Yes, it had been bad – that day – really but she wouldn't give up on having a relationship with her parents. She would go back – after Christmas. Not that she was unreasonable, she would give them some time, then tell them the truth about how much danger they had been in. Bring snippets from the Daily Prophet, or maybe bring Harry if nothing else worked. They seemed to like Harry. She would work on that.

But she would not have her Christmas spoiled by the anger (understandable anger) of her parents.

She snuggled under the covers – smiling to herself when her mind wandered to Severus's face. He had actually almost smiled. And gasped. And he seemed genuinely happy – as happy as she had never seen him. And in her opinion, that was what Christmas was about – getting joy from bringing someone joy.

She closed her eyes – saw his astonished face and could faintly feel his hands on her back when he had hugged and consoled her and smelled his scent.

She would sleep peacefully that night.

xx

He did get the obligatory scarf (black) from Minerva, a Nimblus from Pomona (that was a first), and a huge pumpkin from Hagrid. And (he had counted) 76 Christmas Cards from people he did not know. Actually, of the 76, 62 were no real Christmas Cards – but mere go-to-hells-and-I-hope-you-die for the traitor – or, depending, the murderer. He hadn't expected anything else – the hate-mail had been arriving since he had left the Hospital Wing after the Battle. Even some minor threats had been included, but nothing he could deal with.

What puzzled him, however, were the 14 other cards. Those seemed genuine, no spells on them. Of those 14, 3 wished him a Happy Christmas and nothing else, 10 thanked him for his efforts as a spy and his help to win the war, and one – ONE! – was a marriage proposal. A marriage proposal. By a witch named Karen Mansthoff. Apparently a loony, weird witch. Completely delusional. Probably straight from that ward at St Mungo's.

"Have you heard of Karen Mansthoff?" he hissed at Minerva during breakfast where he had opened the cards.

"Mansthoff?" she asked, then snatched the card from his hands. "Dear Professor Snape," she read softly, only for him to hear, "I think you're wonderful and the things you must have endured during the war..."

"Yes, yes, I've read it," he hissed back. "Do you know her?"

She gave him the card back with a grin. "Graduated in 1965. Hufflepuff. Works at the Quidditch Supply Store in Diagon Alley. A bit on the chubby side, the worst teeth you have ever seen, blonde but fake."

He grimaced. "1965? You're making this up. Nobody can remember all that."

She laughed. "I wish. No, seriously. It seems dear Karen Mansthoff has a thing for heroes."

"How do you mean?"

"She was after Albus for years," Minerva McGonagall – sternest female teacher Hogwarts had seen in a long time – actually giggled.

"You can't have been happy about this."

"Albus wasn't happy about this, but why shouldn't I? Might have done him some good to be with some young, well, young-ish witch."

"Yes, but you and him..."

"Honestly," her mood changed and her hand gripped his forearm tightly, "I've told you a thousand times and I don't know why you don't believe me. But even though everyone thinks there was something between me and him, there never was." She glared at him.

"Fool someone else. I saw the two of you."

She rolled her eyes. "Believe what you will. Albus never was the man I wanted. Much too manipulative for my taste. And he cost me the..."

He looked at her suddenly – and there was something in her eyes – something he had never seen in them – something akin to longing. "Cost you what?" he asked softly.

She shook her head and smiled. "Nothing, Severus. It's Christmas. We should be happy."

He kept on looking in her eyes and was tempted to lift his wand inside his pocket and cast a silent Legilimens but she looked away, still smiling, albeit a little sadly. "Stop it. You know that you can't get through my shields if I want to keep you out."

Severus Snape grimaced but had to admit that she was right. He had never been able to get through her shields – and that was saying something.

"Now," she nudged him in the side with her elbow. "Miss Granger seems to be better."

He looked in the direction she was looking – and she was just walking into the Great Hall – alone, but her head high, no signs of tears or anguish. Smiling. Smiling as she had the night before when she had given him the present.

Yes, he had thought, yes, he had looked through his stacks of books for something suitable to give to her – and had found nothing. He would have traded almost everything in his possession for the book she had given him and that was just the trouble – they were just not worth the same and he wanted to acknowledge it.

And everything else that had come to mind had been either too stupid or too personal, too intimate. He couldn't very well give her jewellery of any sort. No, that wouldn't do. He would have to keep thinking – as simple as that. And he would come up with something.

"Good morning," Hermione said cheerfully when she reached the large, round table that was always there during the holidays.

"Good morning," it echoed back from everyone – some more grumbling, others chipper.

xx

A knitted sweater from Missus Weasley, a long string with a dried red mung bean strung to the end that was supposedly keeping Alberichs away from Luna (together with a rather _interesting_ looking book about the history of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack), and, delivered by Kreacher himself, a miniature bookshelf, complete with books and from the card attached (that said he would be there for the feast a bit later but wanted her to have it sooner), it was clear that she only had to cast an Engorgement Charm and it would become normal-sized.

Of course she had tried it, while Kreacher clicked his tongue disapprovingly, and after a moment, she knew why. Apparently, he had taken a complete wall from the library from Grimmauld Place – and had given it to her for Christmas. And that bookshelf had filled almost the entire dormitory.

She had, of course, quickly reduced the shelf in size again, had thanked Kreacher and had left. She would be late for breakfast as it was. But she knew she had to return the shelf to normal size again before all the other dumb girls came back – that would be perfect reference material for her NEWTs.

She had smiled all the way down the Great Hall – all the way down there, then had almost skipped inside. That Christmas wasn't really so bad – as long as she pushed the thought of her parents to the back of her head.

And the smile had grown when she had seen Severus sitting there, quietly talking to Minerva, still a somewhat pleased look on his face, even though he had tried to conceal it – she could spot that now after spending so much time brewing with him.

"Good morning," she said cheerfully, keeping eye-contact with Severus for a second longer. No, he was definitely content that morning and his lips twitched ever so slightly – almost another smile.

She smiled back, then quickly smiled at all the other teachers present. It didn't really matter whether he thought that she had given her a wonderful present – she was sure he wouldn't appreciate telling everyone else – with or without words – and yes, the headmistress was bloody perceptive.

She ate, she laughed, she almost forgot about her parents and she caught him looking at her once in a while. She didn't acknowledge it – it was better this way. Otherwise, he would push her away. And that was one thing she truly didn't want.

xx

She looked much better – her eyes shining brightly, smiling constantly, talking animatedly to almost everyone at the table, especially an orphaned muggle-born Ravenclaw first year who lived with his grandmother and carried the, well, very interesting name of Hamlet Marlowe (poor child – what had the parents been thinking?) and an equally orphaned pureblood Slytherin first year girl who was called Linola Pyxis (an old family – but she was the last one surviving), who seemed to had befriended each other.

Minerva McGonagall smiled – she hadn't thought she'd see the day so soon that two tiny little firsties, a muggle-born and a pureblood could be friends. But the sweet little Hamlet had developed quite the protective streak of Linola during their second week of classes when she had tripped on a moving staircase and he had caught her.

Hermione seemed to see that wonder, that miracle as well and while those two little students (she liked them so small, really – but then again, she liked them older as well – she liked all of them) chatted amicably, friendly, sitting next to each other and sometimes even touching, nudging and things children did, the headmistress glanced at her oldest Gryffindor at the table again and saw her smiling – again – at Severus. And Severus seemed quite content. His face was free of the scowl.

And that alone was a Christmas miracle as well.

Minerva decided there and then, to keep an eye on those two (knowing, somewhere in her mind, that they could be good for each other).

xx

"Aberforth, will you not come with me?" Harry stood at the door to the Hog's Head, waiting to go.

"And who minds the shop?" he asked grumpily back.

"Close it. It's Christmas. Nobody will be coming anyway," Harry almost whined. "Come on, it's gonna be good, good food, and you like Severus, right?"

"It wouldn't be good. I'ven't been up there for years," the older man argued.

"I don't care. Please?"

Aberforth grimaced and rolled his eyes. "No. Go. I've no intention of going up there and seeing faces that I've no longing to see."

Harry knew a battle when it was lost, shrugged, waved good bye and left the pub, pondering over his last words. Seeing faces he had no longing to see. He had made other remarks – things that might just fall in place – if he could remember them all. But so far, Harry only knew that there was something – no, someone – at Hogwarts that he didn't want to see – and that had nothing to do with the castle or his brother. Or maybe it had.

He grinned to himself, imagining all kinds of scenarios – a woman, probably – a former love, that had dumped him. Sprout, probably, or Pomfrey. Maybe McGonagall. He grinned at the thought. McGonagall, who had, according to the rumours, a long, happy marriage with Albus Dumbledore. Not that he had proof, but usually, there was always a grain of salt in everything. But nevertheless, he made a mental note to grill Abe. Get things out of him.

It had begun to snow heavily again and his glasses were quite wet and he had trouble seeing clearly. He berated himself for not getting contact lenses – again. The thought had crossed his mind again and again. It would make him less obvious, and if he managed to flatten his hair somehow, he might actually be able to walk through Diagon Alley without being stopped and asked for an autograph.

He shrugged to himself and made another mental note to get information on contacts. He knew wizards didn't have them, but oh well, a trip to London never hurt. Or any other city or town really.

He rounded the corner to the Three Broomsticks, his vision basically non-existent and he actually considered casting a repelling charm on his glasses but the moment he wanted to pull his wand from his sleeve, he slipped or tripped or maybe fell.

And suddenly, he found himself flat on his back – his glasses knocked off – and stared into the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen.

_**xx**_


	28. Chapter 28

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**Dedicated to tatjana88 – who was an immense help with this and the last chapter. Thank you so much!**_

_**xx**_

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," a soft, gentle, very female voice belonging to the blue, sparkling eyes spoke, sitting up swiftly and plucking his glasses from the ground, in the snow, where it had fallen. "Oh, it's broken," she continued. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you, damn snow and it's so slippery. Don't get that much at home."

"Erm," Harry blushed wildly and sat up in the snow. "I'm, erm, sorry."

The girl grinned broadly. "Do you live here?"

"Erm...," he answered again – it was very rare that someone didn't immediately recognise him. But he was without glasses after all. "I'm living at the Hog's Head at the moment."

She wrinkled her forehead prettily. "Hog's Head? Hog's Head?"

"It's the pub, well, inn, really, down the street."

"Ah, the other one," she smiled, getting up slowly, and, holding out her hand in his direction, nodded encouragingly. "You might want to get up. Snow melts after a while, you know?"

"Erm," he answered again and let the girl help him up. Standing, she was only a bit shorter than himself, and only a bit younger, he guessed between 16 and 18 – her eyes almost at the same height as his and he stared into them again, the colour of a summer sky. Blue. Blue. Blue. He only noticed now that his hand was still in hers – or the other way around. "I'm just Harry."

"I'm Dotty. Well, Dorothy really. I live with my Auntie Rosmerta."

"Madame Rosmerta?" he asked, this time without stuttering.

She grinned. "Yes, that's her. I help her there since my dad's new wife, well, she doesn't like me much."

"Erm," Harry pushed the broken glasses back on his nose since she had given them back to him – another apologetic smile on her pretty face. Pretty. Very pretty. Dark brown, wavy, chin-length hair, glistening with snowflakes, a small nose, perfectly straight, and a mouth that wasn't overly large – a bit smallish, like a child's, almost. And those sunny-sky-blue eyes. "Do you know the spell? My best friend always fixes my glasses and even though she's done it often enough, I can never remember it," he pointed at the cracked lenses of his glasses and the fact that they were quite askew on his nose.

"Spell? Oh right. Auntie Rose said that. No, I'm sorry. I'm a squib," she replied calmly, still smiling.

"A...wow, I mean, and you live here now?"

"Since just before Christmas. Dad's wife wanted me out before Christmas. She's a witch as well and dad's a wizard and she's pregnant and she really wanted me out because I'm a – oh-so-horrible squib. Besides, I'm done with school and I've no idea what to do. Auntie Rose said there was some war but it's over now and it'd be safe for me to come to England, so here I am..." she smiled.

He smiled back. "Come to England?" he asked, forgetting that he'd rather had to hurry to the castle to make it to the feast. "It's Scotland."

"Right." She nodded. "I was born here, actually. In Hogsmeade but when my mum disappeared, he packed all his bags, and moved to Antigua."

"Antigua?" Harry was absolutely fascinted.

She nodded again. "He was fascinated by it apparently and as I actually can't remember living anywhere else."

"And you come back to this," he stated, pointing towards the sky.

She laughed – a clear, wonderful sound, as clear as her eyes, as tinkling as the snowflakes falling down. "I think it's wonderful," she gushed and lifted her face towards the sky, closing her eyes tightly and opening her mouth wide, obviously tasting the snow. "I got so sick of the sun. Day in, day out. A bit of rain sometimes, but always warm and I really like tights. And boots and I never could wear them."

He was astonished by the openness with which she spoke. She told him the story of her life – and had barely met him. "What about you?"

"I'm just Harry. I used to go to school here, now I work for Aberforth at the Hog's Head," he answered quickly. "My parents died when I was a baby and I've lived with my aunt and uncle until last year."

"So you're basically a competitor?" she asked cheekily.

"Erm, I don't know. I think the decent people all go to the Three Broomsticks anyway," he grinned happily.

She ran her hand through her hair, shaking off some snow and winked. "Let's see if I'm decent then. Or maybe just try my hand at a bit of industrial espionage," she grinned. "Listen, I got to go, just Harry, Auntie Rose will get worried if I'm not back soon – she said there were still, erm, what was the term, rogue deaf Eaters..."

"Death Eaters," he interrupted.

"Right, rogue Death Eaters on the prowl. And they could be dangerous."

He nodded, suddenly remembering. "Oh, damn, I have to go up to the castle," he said quickly. "They'll have my head if I'm too late."

"Better not risk that," she chuckled. "Hope to see you soon, just Harry. Oh, and Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Dotty," he grinned boyishly and dashed off towards the castle.

Well, he could have apparated to the gates at least – but he feared that maybe, in his current condition, he would splinch himself. Dotty was – refreshing. Open, quite unlike the people he had met in the last few months since the last Battle. Of course they were different. They'd been affected, he had been affected – everyone had been affected. Not her, apparently. He remembered the carefree times – barely, but he did. And Harry Potter knew that the presence of a beautiful girl who knew nothing of the horrors of the war could only be good for him. And she certainly was vivacious, interesting, worth getting to know. He knew.

xx

"Where's Harry?" the headmistress asked Hermione who had just come into the Great Hall – in her best robes, scarlet-red, clinging to her, long-sleeves, very long, A-line skirt that dragged slightly behind her.

"Isn't he here yet?" she asked, sitting down and smoothing down her skirt. It felt unaccustomed to wearing such beautiful robes – but she had bought them for the celebrations after the fall of Voldemort – and had never gotten around to wearing them – since most of the time, she wore muggle clothes. Besides, those robes were not only an unusually red and tight for her taste but they also had a cleavage she was not used to.

Oh well, it was Christmas and she was a single woman after all. Not that she was after someone – but at least nobody was nagging that she was wearing something ugly or boring or too daring or revealing or anything. No, in fact, only the headmistress had quickly glanced up – and the rest were busy talking. But then again, neither Severus nor Harry were there yet and she knew she'd get a comment from at least one of them (and that, doubtlessly, would be Harry).

"No, he's not here yet," Minerva knocked lightly on the table and a goblet with a dark, red liquid appeared on the table. "Want some elf-made wine?"

Hermione shook her head. "Thank you. Probably Aberforth needed him for a bit longer."

The older woman raised her eyebrows slightly but said nothing, instead took a large gulp from her wine.

"My my, are you beginning already?" the unmistakable, if different from before the war, voice of Severus Snape resounded behind her – and behind Minerva and suddenly, he leant down between them and peaked into the headmistress's glass. "Elf-made wine?"

"I've got the potions specialist right here and I have some left-over hangover potion from Halloween."

Severus smirked, then, for a moment, seemed to observe the table before he pulled the empty chair next to Hermione back. "I'll just sit here, seeing that Potter's not here yet and I wouldn't want to block the seat next to the _saviour_ of our world."

"Severus!" Minerva hissed and frankly, Hermione felt as if she was sitting between two formidable opponents who both had a lot of experience in bickering with one another – and who both, to a certain degree, enjoyed it.

"Mh?" the Potions Master asked with an ironically raised eyebrow.

"You behave towards Harry otherwise you'll oversee every single detention and you offer tutoring for the Hufflepuffs," she threatened.

Hermione couldn't help it and giggled – after bringing her hand up to her mouth and trying to hide it behind it.

"Find that funny, Miss Granger?" he asked, looking at her – in her eyes, definitely.

"Yes," she managed to turn her giggles into a smile. "Yes, I do find that funny."

"And pray why, may I ask?"

xx

He had to admit that she looked lovely. The robes fitted her well, the cleavage just deep enough to hint, and not deep enough to look cheap. The colour suited her well – the red complimented her skin tone perfectly and...

'Oh shut it, Snape,' he told himself sternly, 'you're just gushing about a student."

Instead, he decided to just bait her – and, as quickly as possible – push her towards talking to the headmistress. Only that didn't quite work – and he remembered the book, lying on the table in his living room, just next to the armchair he had been sitting on – and reading it – before.

"No offence, Professor Snape, but you don't have the patience to deal with Hufflepuffs. Who need tutoring."

"That's true, Severus," Minerva grinned evilly as well. "You'll still do it if you're not civil towards him."

Hermione wondered whether she knew that the two of them had at least once talked civilly before – and oh...she had forgotten. "Professor Snape," she began and turned fully towards him, facing him, "I forgot to thank you yesterday."

He raised his eyebrows in question.

"Bringing my parents back."

"I didn't know it was something to thank me for," he replied, knocking on the table as well and carefully, picking up the goblet and sniffing the tea. "I didn't think you were happy they were back. I believe your exact words yesterday were, They hate me."

xx

She stared at him – then understood – he wasn't mean. But he had to say this. He didn't want to be thanked. And he needed to be nasty – otherwise he'd probably be embarrassed.

"Well, yes, but I never give up. They'll come around. And they'll see that I did the best thing for them."

"And did you do that?" he asked, his lip curling.

She shrugged. "It seemed so at the time. They're alive now at least," she argued – knowing that he was playing devil's advocate. That she had been feeling the exact same things – but by arguing with him, she knew and he probably knew, that she would find all the positive sides. All the reasons why she had done it.

Or maybe, he was just as acerbic, bad-tempered, evil, and horrible as ever. But she doubted it. His eyes had lost that blank look – the were glimmering and shining. She had seen it before – rarely but it had happened.

"Severus, Hermione," Minerva admonished lightly, "no arguing at Christmas."

Hermione looked at Severus and smiled lightly. "I just wanted to say thanks."

He, on the other hand, did not smile. He didn't sneer, he didn't smirk, he didn't grimace, he didn't roll his eyes. He just looked very steadily at her. And slowly, ever so slowly, nodded once.

It was just as good as any 'you're welcome'.

xx

She thanked him. Again. Again. For bringing her parents back. Merlin, really, this woman had no idea, had she? The book, the extensive thank you while giving the book, now a thank you for bringing her parents back – which wasn't at all an happy event for her.

People did not thank him for anything. They did not thank him when he saved their lives, they did not thank him when he put his own life on the line. They did not thank him when he was bitten by a ruddy snake and almost bled to death. They did not thank him when he send his own ruddy Patronus to the bloody boy to get to the bloody sword. They did not thank him for not torturing them when he had been headmaster and they did not thank him when he came back to teach.

Nobody ever thanked him. And he was used to it. It was the usual way of people not to thank him.

So why now?

And why her?

He tried hard to suppress a groan, and took a sip of tea instead. He was grateful to the house elves, really. The tea did not look like tea but rather mead. He didn't want anyone to know yet that he had stopped drinking. But well, it was better that way.

And splendid tea.

Apparently, it also smelled like mead to the others – at least the scared little second year next to him thought so and eyed it suspiciously.

"I won't poison you with it. At least not yet," he hissed down and could feel Minerva's glares but merely met them with a smirk.

xx

"Sorry," Harry Potter stormed into the Great Hall, his hair and clothes very wet.

"And Potter did not even remember he was a wizard to cast at least a water-repelling charm," Severus sneered and Minerva was close to getting up and clouting him. Just gently, of course, but still.

"Harry, what happened to your glasses?" Hermione got up quickly, the hems her pretty red robes dragging on the floor behind her (the headmistress remembered that she used to have similar robes once – looking quite nice with her green clan-tartan on her shoulder. Even he had said so. But that was another lifetime. And why was she even thinking about it so often lately? Thinking about him so often lately? 'Rubbish,' she told herself).

"What happened?" Hermione asked again, and pulled, with a sigh, her wand from her sleeve. "Occulos Reparo," she muttered and his glasses – she couldn't really see from the distance – repaired themselves.

Harry, on the other hand, grinned simply goofily. "Hello Hermione," he smiled at her and kissed her cheek. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas," she answered back and pulled on his arm. The entire table, of course was already filled and people were talking but the food hadn't appeared yet.

"Potter, do you think you could walk even slower? Or drip even more from your robes?" Severus commented as the rest of the teachers welcomed Harry, who did indeed cast warming and drying charms and he took his seat between Hagrid and a Gryffindor fifth year who stared at him dreamily.

"Hungry, Snape?" Harry grinned.

Severus merely growled, but his retort was cut short by Minerva – who suddenly leaned over Hermione (who had taken her seat again) – and pressed her fingertip into his upper thigh. "One more comment," she hissed, "and you tutor the Hufflepuffs twice a week."

He rolled his eyes and seemed to lean a bit closer – but maybe that was just because he wanted to be closer to Hermione. The little glances, obviously, were still there and he seemed to be watching her from the corners of his eyes.

And – he smiled once. Once during the entire feast – he smiled. It was only fleeting, not there if one didn't look closely or blinked. But he had smiled.

When Harry had left – and she had wanted to go to bed as well. And she had thanked him again. He had smiled. After she had left.

Sometimes, Minerva wondered what it would take to make him smile openly.

And yet, when her colleagues started singing again, and everyone seemed too drunk – she left as well.

Good house elves. Hard charmed her tea to look and smell like elf-made wine after she had her first and only alcoholic drink It had been enough the night before. He had left before. Content. And his robes were billowing less than before.

xx

She sighed and slipped in her pyjamas. It had been a good Christmas but on the other hand, she was glad that it would be over soon. Harry had seemed so happy – and almost like the Harry he had known before all this. Giddy on his chair, grinning, talking animatedly to Hagrid, listening, smiling, not the pensive mess he had been. Alive. That was the word. Harry looked alive.

And she hadn't been one single bit better. She had even joked. A little. And eaten, and had her butterbeer and it was all nice. And peaceful. And nobody had made one stupid comment about her hair, her robes, nothing. They'd all be eating together in relative peace.

Even Severus – though she doubted the poor second year next to him felt the same way. Poor little second year (she didn't even know his name) but he hadn't really dared to touch his food – nor his drink. She smiled fondly at the image in her head of Severus glaring down at the boy. She knew that for this second year, Severus was probably the evil headmaster – in a school full of Death Eaters – but still – he was now a regular teacher again. Granted, still the master of taking points and detention but he was a teacher. A hero.

And he had paled slightly. Only slightly when she had thanked him.

There – one thought. He wasn't used to thank yous. He wasn't. Nobody had. The papers still hated him, people still distrusted him. Nobody thanked him. He wasn't used to it.

It wasn't so much the thought that McGonagall had been there – well, that probably too – but he just wasn't used to it. She would thank him more often. Not so obviously – but she would thank him. Again and again – until he was used to it.

She pulled the covers back – and her eyes fell on a bit of parchment on her pillow. She knew the handwriting immediately. Years and years of corrected potions essays – only, the ink this time was a dark, royal blue instead of a blood-red.

There were only two words on the parchment, but she knew she would treasure them for the rest of her life for their meaning. She knew he meant it. And she knew that it must have cost him a lot to put them on paper.

She held the parchment in front of her, flopped down on the bed and held it carefully between her fingers. Reading the two words over and over again.

_Thank you._

_**xx**_


	29. Chapter 29

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Severus Snape spent Boxing Day the same way he always spent Boxing Day. In his quarters, away from all the rest of the world – enjoying a book or two.

The only difference was really, that in the afternoon, he ventured into his private lab, Hermione's gift securely in a deep pocket of his robes. Usually, on Boxing Day, he never wore his robes. He gave himself the time off from the robes – in August and on Boxing Day. But not when he was going to his lab. He couldn't possibly leave his robes behind. No, instead he shed them inside his lab, revealing – under those robes and under his heavy frock coat, which he shrugged off as well (it was Boxing Day after all), a white shirt, long-sleeved, high-collared, starchy.

He was used to those clothes but sometimes, only sometimes, he remembered the jeans and corduroy trousers his father had forced him to wear during his summers at home, and the jumpers that were quite shabby, quite worn but comfortable. A lot more comfortable that his usual attire – his school attire.

He smirked as he pulled a cauldron, pewter, standard size 3, from the shelf and put it on a fire he had lit with his wand, he smirked because he tried to imagine the looks on his students' faces if he should ever appear in wide corduroy and a hooded jumper. In that awful deep green his father preferred since it could be worn for years – and absorbed the dirt quite well.

Well, yes, he had hated his father. But muggle clothes, thinking back, had their advantages. Well, he would just have to bring Minerva to wager about muggle clothes again – and lose on purpose their chess game. Just to lose the wager. And scare the students even more with forest-green corduroy trousers and a matching jumper. Preferably in mustard-yellow.

'You're very cruel, Snape," he thought to himself.

No, of course he would never do it but the thought that he could even consider it was – quite surprising. And his good mood was even more so. Actually, he couldn't remember being in such a good mood for a while.

He had done it – in spite of himself. Couldn't think of a present and had written a ruddy note. Not even signed. And the way he thought Hermione was, well, she got a lot of thank yous.

He shook his head, trying to stop thinking about her and how many thank yous from various people she got – and then remembered that the Weasley boy had married the day before. She hadn't mentioned it once during dinner – and neither had Potter and yes, he did wonder whether it had been on her mind at all. He would, that was for sure, make sure to check the courtyard some time that night. Just to make sure that she cast enough warming charms on herself. And water-repelling charms in that weather. And if she wasn't – the better.

Now, onto the potion. New. Or old – but he had never done it before. It seemed quite simple – and it was just a headache potion but he was excited, very excited. And stopped just before he started making the base.

She should be there. Should help. Should watch.

He whistled and a mere minute later, Mercury was, hootingly, letting him tie the bit of parchment on his leg.

xx

"Professor Snape," she panted – but smiled. "I...erm," she looked around suddenly. "I don't think I've ever been here."

"This is my private lab, Miss Granger. You will forget where it is."

"Sir, I doubt I could find it on my own without your owl flying in front of me and showing," she laughed. "Thank you for your note," she added softly.

"Yes. Well. I've changed the recipe for this headache remedy," he showed her the page on the book – and the notes he had made on a separate piece of parchment.

She hummed softly and read it through – twice, it seemed, a little line forming between her eyebrows. He took his moment to carefully look at her. And he stifled a chortle. A sound he hadn't made in forever and he wouldn't start now.

But, to his great amazement, she wore brown corduroy trousers and a long sleeved, beige hooded jumper, heavy boots. Black. Her hair in a strange mess at the back of her head – two pencils stuffed inside to hold it up, apparently.

She chewed on her lip, her finger lightly scratching over the line between her eyebrows, then suddenly, looked up at him and grinned. "It might strengthen the tremor potion."

He looked from her to his parchment. "The wormwood and the horsetail..."

"Yes, they'd react with the mandrake that's still in your blood..."

"And strengthen the potion," he concluded. "But why would it need strengthening? Have you experienced any tremors again?"

She shrugged. "A little when the first snow came. But the pain in my back hasn't returned and I can still walk and write all the time."

"It's come back and you haven't said a word?" he was angry at her. Definitely.

"I documented it," she explained calmly. "And it's not as if we hadn't expected it. Well, I hadn't, really. It's not going to last forever. I think you have to take it reg..."

"Silly girl," he spat. "When? When exactly did it start again?"

"The day before you brought me to my parents," she said softly. "It wasn't bad and not for long. It had just started snowing. And I thought if I had...you know, you might have them as well."

He glared at her. "I didn't. And the potion is supposed to last longer than that."

"Look, Professor Snape, really. I had it once, briefly. My hands, and only my hands, were shaking for about an hour. I could still hold a quill and while my writing wasn't as pretty as usual," he raised an eyebrow at that – and Hermione grinned. Her handwriting wasn't usually pretty. More a scrawl, actually, "I was fine. I documented it, and now I'm going to wait until the snow melts and we'll get the great big rain again. We'll see what happens then..."

"But," he tried to interrupt but her hand was up and she continued speaking.

"There was nothing, not even when I had all that stress with my parents. Nothing. Yesterday, even when I consciously thought about Ron the moron getting married, nothing. So, obviously, stress cannot trigger it as it used to before. We'll just wait."

He was unconvinced by her argument. Very unconvinced but he knew that in her current state, she would not take another dose of the serum. She would simply argue with him until he was so tired out by her grating tones, and by her sharp arguments that he would order her out of the room. And that wouldn't be good.

"What about Potter?"

She frowned. "What do you mean what about Potter?"

"Didn't you give him some? He must experience the after-effects as well," he asked, curiously.

"Harry? No, he doesn't."

"But – he should. He's been under it for..."

Hermione sighed and sat down on one of the stools in his lab. "I've asked him about that. He said he's never experienced any of those symptoms that I had. And we thought that maybe, it's his connection. Well, was the connection that he had to, well, you know. He said there were never any after-shocks."

"Hm, interesting," Severus replied. It was indeed but he had heard about it – the curse itself hurt even more, as it was when, for instance, a husband curses his wife, but there will be no after-effects of it. "Just like Potter not to have to suffer afterwards," he grumbled.

She smiled. "He deserves it, sir."

"That is a matter of opinion," he grumbled, then looked up suddenly and fixed her with his eyes. "I want you to tell me as soon as you get the tremors. If you can't find me in my office or classroom, send your owl, he'll find me. But I want to see the tremors and I want to see them while they're happening. Understood?"

xx

She was quite taken aback by the viciousness of his last statement. Why was he caring so much?

Ah – of course, the potion. If she felt the tremors sooner than him, maybe they could figure out why – improve the potion, finding out side-effects, reactions to other potions (maybe it was the contraceptive serum she was still taking – though why, she wasn't sure. It was not like she needed it at the moment), allergic reactions etcetera, etcetera.

It was not as if he cared about her. Severus Snape wouldn't care about her.

Still – it was nice to hear him being so adamant about telling him.

She sat a little straighter on the stool and smiled warmly at him.

xx

And why in the name of all that was holy did she smile at him like this?

Just because he wanted to make sure that those bleeding tremors did not get any worse?

Internally, he shook his head, then pointed at the cauldron.

"Base," he merely stated.

It was so easy to work with her. When the task was really difficult, or new, she would be quiet. When there was a pause in their brewing, she would ask, and today, she even had brought a little notebook, and scribbled down what she thought was important. And that was when she was silent as well – though it seemed she had perfected the art of asking, writing and listening at the same time. And smiling. She did that during the entire time.

Quite irritating, really.

xx

"So, Harry, care to tell me why you've been grinning like mad since last night?" Aberforth handed Harry the last glass to be polished (it had been Harry's idea, of course, to polish the glasses – Aberforth didn't care about spots and the like).

Harry blushed – he was glad that there weren't that many customers left – it was almost closing time (well, according to Abe – his own watch said it was past closing time). And there were still people who nursed their first sheep-ale since that afternoon – and who took their sweet time looking at him. And only at him. But, he had gotten used to it, even though he was still hoping that the interest would die down eventually – though – well, it had done the dingy old pub some good.

It was cleaner than before, the food was better (since Abe was more careful what to put into the grub), the glasses, well, polished.

"Are you going to tell me why you're grinning?" the older man asked again – and Harry was glad that he had given up on pretending not to speak almost accent-free English. At least when he spoke to him.

"If you tell me which faces you've got no longing to see up at the castle," he bargained.

"Then keep grinning, lad," Abe raised his white eyebrows and traipsed off into the kitchen.

Apparently, some information wasn't worth getting to know the reason why he was grinning.

He still was, as a matter of fact, goofily, and wiped the surface of the counter clean. It was really clean – but that had taken him two days to achieve. Why Aberforth hadn't given more effort into keeping the Hog's Head a decent place, he wasn't sure but of course, from memories, pensieved and told, he knew that this had always been the place were less than wholesome characters met – only with those kind of tourists, who came in the morning, ordered one drink, then got something to eat, Abe's pressuring was good, and looked at him all day long, the less than wholesome characters were not coming any more.

'Well,' Harry thought, 'better than no business at all.'

He looked up and his grin grew even wider as he saw the door being opened and a gust of wind brought a lot of snowflakes – and Dotty – in. She grinned just as stupidly as he was and shook the white flakes from her hair.

"Okay, okay, I'm here to do a little espionage," she called from the door, then closed it – unaware that most eyes in the room were on her. Harry on the other hand, wasn't.

Only, so what? He would not kiss Dotty – he would talk to her. If she sat down at the counter.

"Butterbeer?" Harry asked as she ventured towards him, her eyes on him.

"Erm, well, first of all. Hello, just Harry," she smiled. "Then, erm, Butterbeer. I don't think so. I mean I've been serving that all day long and I don't even know what it is. Do you think you have a diet coke or something? Auntie Rose doesn't have it."

"Diet coke?" Harry chuckled. "I'll look in the back – but I can't guarantee it."

Dotty rolled her eyes. "Brilliant. I mean, I think it's wonderful being surrounded by all that magic, but I really need a diet coke."

Harry laughed. "Erm, well, first of all, hello Dotty – I'll go in the back and look for some diet coke."

"Thanks, Harry!" she grinned at him and pulled off her heavy coat.

He sprinted into the back – the kitchen – even though he did know that there was no diet coke in the whole of Hogsmead (well, maybe there was but he hadn't come across it yet) and stood in front of Abe, breathing heavily. "We don't have diet coke, do we?"

The older man frowned. "We don't have what?"

"Diet coke. Sweet, brown, caffeine, sparkling..."

He shook his head. "Never heard of it. Why do you..." Abe seemed to sense something and took a step aside, peeking out of the door into the guestroom. "That's obviously the reason for the grinning," he stated, "and she wants a diet cook."

"Coke," Harry corrected. "But yes. And where do I get one now?"

"Tell her we don't have it."

Harry groaned. "No. No."

"Then an accio."

"But that would be stealing!"

Aberforth chuckled. "That is for you and your conscience to decide. Stealing or telling that gorgeous girl you don't have day-et colke."

"Diet coke, diet coke," Harry repeated, unnerved, but flipped his wand from his sleeve and sighed. "Accio diet coke," he spoke loudly, then to Aberforth, "and we are getting an assortment of muggle drinks in here."

Abe smiled. "You spent too much time with my brother. Muggle sweets all the time. Annoying."

Harry stood and stared at the tip of his wand. And suddenly, out of nowhere, a sixpack flew in – ice-cold. He jumped on the spot and took a can. "This, Aberforth, is a can of diet coke. And I'm going to give it to her."

"You do that," Abe muttered, smilingly.

He skipped back, all eyes, again, on him and the can in his hand. "Want a glass?" he asked cheekily.

She sighed deeply – a happy sigh, apparently. "No. Oh God, you're the best, really."

He blushed furiously – but said nothing and instead watched her as she opened the can – careful not to break a nail, obviously and took a huge gulp.

"This is so good," she laughed. "Want a sip?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm knackered and for once, I should sleep at night."

She nodded. "Auntie Rose lets me sleep in in the mornings – because she knows I'm crabby when I don't get at least 8 hours."

"Really? You get crabby?"

She chuckled and put her elbows on the counter and her face in her hands. "Definitely."

"Mh," he stated simply – but then she bent a little closer and beckoned him to do the same. He did, slowly, an eye always on the rest of the customers, but it seemed there was no photographer amongst them.

"Harry, why are the people all looking at you?"

xx

"It was very nice brewing with you!" Hermione smiled and looked into his eyes. "Thank you so much!"

He nodded – then, stopped and stood stock-still. She knew. She knew nobody was thanking him – she had figured it out. And she did it now – extensively. She had during the brewing, all the time. For every single thing he had done. For every answered question. He was obviously some kind of charity-case for her. Thank-the-evil-git. Bonus points for more than a hundred thank yous a day. And a plaque at the end of a month if one said more than five thousand thank yous.

"Stop that damn thanking, Miss Granger," he said in his soft, deadly voice.

"Excuse me?"

"I know what you're doing. Thanking me all the time. It's not needed and not wanted," he added maliciously.

"I'm not...," she answered puzzled.

"Don't play dumb with me. You know it, I know it."

"I was merely thanking you for letting me help, letting me into your private lab," she defended herself.

"Don't. Gratefulness is not needed," he spat and turned around.

She shoved her notebook into the back-pocket of her trousers and stared at him for a long moment, apparently trying to figure out what had just happened. She took a step away from him, backwards, then turned around and walked away – slow at first. Then, turned around and looked at him over her shoulder.

"Gratefulness is not a sin, Professor Snape. And it's not a dirty word either!"

_**xx**_


	30. Chapter 30

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

"Harry, why are the people all looking at you?" Dorothy asked, looking carefully over her shoulder.

"Erm, well, you remember, the, eh, war? That was on here?" he asked back, wiping the counter again. Well, wiping furiously, actually.

"Bullocks," Aberforth had appeared next to Harry and smirked. "Harry's the one who killed you-know-who."

Dotty looked puzzled. "No, sorry. I'm afraid I don't know who."

Harry chuckled suddenly. "See? It's ridiculous."

"You sound like Albus," Aberforth raised his eyebrows.

"Okay, seriously – I'm not joking here, I don't know what you're talking about. Until a week ago I lived in Antigua. Palm trees, sand everywhere. Sun all the time. I don't know about anyone here. So could you just tell me why those people are staring at you and who it was that you killed?" she asked impatiently.

Abe lifted his hands in surrender. "That's Harry Potter."

"I know it's Harry," she huffed. "And Potter, lovely last name. Should I know you?"

Harry quickly shook his head. "I played a role in the war."

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Harry, just say it. Harry played _the_ role in the war. He killed the one who started it in the first place. The evil one. You-know-who."

"I still don't," she shrugged. "But I think I get it. You're something like a war hero then?"

Harry groaned but Aberforth was, once more, faster, "The war hero. Without him, mostly, it wouldn't be that way now."

"Are you starting that shit as well now?" Harry asked testily, then turned to Dotty. "Sorry, but..."

She looked at him curiously. "So those people are looking at you because you killed someone?"

"Not someone," Aberforth interrupted. "Voldemort."

"Voldemort?" Dotty repeated. "What an utterly ridiculous name."

The smile returned to Harry's face. "It most certainly was. But yes, to answer your question, I killed him. According to a prophecy, I was the only one who could do it."

"Prophecy? Do you believe in prophecies?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know."

"I could bring by your horoscope tomorrow," she said rapidly. "Prophecy – hmpf."

"A lot of people here believed in it," Aberforth argued gently. "And it just happened the way it did."

Dorothy let her head fall back and stared at the ceiling. "I see," she said slowly. "You're famous then."

"I suppose I am," Harry replied softly, wiping the counter again.

"And you're working here?"

"It's a long story," her shrugged. "But I don't like being famous."

"Mh," she hummed. "Alright. Good." She looked at him again and slowly, her smile returned. "You will tell me the entire story, won't you, Harry?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

She nodded back. "Very nice," she took another sip from the diet coke. "Who's Albus?" she then asked, picking up the thread from earlier before.

"Albus was my brother," Aberforth grunted.

"And the headmaster of Hogwarts," Harry added quickly.

Dotty nodded again. "And why are you," she pointed at Harry, "like him?"

Aberforth sighed. "Albus insisted that people call Voldemort by his real name. Nobody really did and my darling brother thought it was ridiculous and that people were only more scared of him that way."

Dorothy shrugged and toyed with the lid of the can – pulling it back and forth until it came apart from the can and she pushed it onto her pinkie. "I don't understand. I mean..." her voice trailed off and she played with the lid of the can, watching it with fascination.

"I'll leave you to explain and get those people out," Aberforth whispered to Harry and shuffled off.

"My parents were killed by him when I was a baby. He tried to kill me too when I was a year old but because, simply put, my mother died for me, he didn't succeed. Voldemort wasn't killed though and he returned. It was said, in that prophecy, that I was the one, marked by him, who could kill him. I won't bore you with the details, but he split his soul into pieces and couldn't be killed until all the pieces of his soul, hidden in various objects, were destroyed. Those were destroyed and we fought the battle. I did what was expected of me. I didn't do that much, or – I don't know but they're hailing me as a saviour. Was in the papers every day. Still am, I think, don't read it any more."

She listened attentively, her brow furrowed, one hand, absently, playing with the lid of the can, the other with a curl. She nodded at the end of his explanation but remained silent – even though she now had her eyes on him.

"Everyone knows me here and I was training to be an auror..."

"Auror?"

"Wizard police," he explained, "and there were basically paparazzi everywhere. They wrote the most idiotic crap in there. And they've breached more bounds of privacy than you can ever imagine. My best friend Hermione found out through the paper that her ex was getting married. Who was incidentally, a very, very good friend of mine as well. And I didn't really know either."

"Oh," she nodded. "I understand. You left this auror-training to come work here because you thought it would be quieter and they wouldn't bother so much."

"Exactly," he smiled. "Hasn't worked so far."

"But you hope it will?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

"Oh well," she said, drinking some more coke, and, it seemed, emptying the can, "I just, this is all very new to me," she said slowly, then, seemed to pick herself up again and looked at him. "I have to learn."

"I'll help," Harry replied softly and, on impulse, covered her hand with his.

Dotty nodded, smiled and flipped her hand over, letting his palm rest against hers. "I'm looking forward to it."

xx

Hermione lay, wide awake, in her bed, staring up. Damn him. Damn him for being so idiotic, so – no, she couldn't even think of an adjective that described what he was. Hadn't opened up to her, hadn't even appreciated her thank you. Not that she wanted it, but that blithering fool (and she clapped her hand over her mouth after thinking that – he was a teacher after all), was so stubborn, so argh, that he wouldn't even just take it as it was said. No, instead, he was, well, what was he doing? Pushing her away?

Most certainly that.

But then again, she had been a bit excessive with her thanks. Thanks all the time. For everything.

She had been, once again, too obvious – too Gryffindor.

"Brilliant," she scolded herself. She didn't want to have him push her away. She wanted him to be in her life. Wanted it, wanted it, wanted it. Wanted him in there. He had become important to her – though she wasn't sure why.

No, she did. She could learn so much from him – had learned so much from him already. He knew all there was to know about potions – and he had a grace brewing them, an air about him that just oozed knowledge and passion.

Passion?

Passion. Passion bubbling underneath the tough, stony, sneering exterior.

He had surprised her – definitely – by not wearing his robes or his frock coat but rather a simple white shirt. Crisply ironed. It had revealed a lean upper body – and strong arms. His movements while brewing – nothing short of elegant, his hands concise, sure and when he spoke, it was almost reverently. And he explained, softly, calmly – when she asked a question. He even let her take notes. Everything.

And – just as she wouldn't let go with her parents, just as she would fight to be on good terms with them again – she decided to fight to keep him in her life as well.

He had had the idea that she go into research. And she had plans to write to the Wizarding University in Oxford, to French WU in Paris, the German WU, the Austrian WU, as well as the ones in Spain and Italy. And she had high hopes that she could attend one of them for a year or so, learn the ways of those big libraries, learn to find her way around them – basically just learning and studying for a while – and if she got one or the other degree out of it – she would go into researching afterwards. For the Ministry, St Mungo's. Who cared? It didn't matter – he had been right. Spending her life around books, wriggling the last possible fact from them, that was a perfect life. In her book.

And she hadn't even told him yet.

She sat up suddenly – and grinned – pulling a piece of parchment from her bedside cabinet and called for Hermes.

xx

In another part of the castle, another Gryffindor sat in bed thinking as well. And she, as well, opened a drawer in her bedside cabinet and pulled out a stack of parchments. Letters. Plenty of letters.

Letters she had gotten, letters she had written. Letters she had written but had never sent. Those were the majority.

Dating between 1947 and 1978. Plenty between the years of 47 and 53. Then, two a year, sometimes a little more, never less.

Pulling a random piece of parchment from the stack, she put the rest aside and righted the reading glasses on her nose and sighed before she began to read the words she had written on July 24th, 1965.

_My dearest Ab,_

_Another school year over. I wish there were news, but it's all so quiet – we didn't even have any real pranksters this year. I would lie if I said my students are all good as gold, they most certainly aren't but nothing bad at all. I only had to go to the Hospital Wing once, and that was because one of the fifth years accidentally transfigured a teacup into a falcon and that seemed keen on attacking me. It wasn't bad, only a scratch above the eye and our new medi-witch, Poppy Pomfrey (you remember her, I suppose, she was a year below me at school and she was often with me when I went to Hogsmeade) was able to fix it almost immediately. No harm done. _

_It's been 18 years and I'm still writing. Can you believe that? If someone told that fact to my students, they would bring me to someone who could check for polyjuice – because this isn't like me. Albus doesn't know either – he would scold me and tell me to get over it. And that this is not like the person he knows, that I'm not someone who's yearning, who's longing. And maybe he's right. Or he isn't. I don't know any more, Ab. 18 years, and I still miss you like crazy. But honestly, I seem almost resigned to the fact that I will continue missing you for the rest of my life. _

_Damn the fights, damn the school, damn your brother. I want to send this letter – I know you're in Hogsmeade. I know you're working there. I just want to run in there, want to tell that bloody busybody Thackery Dingle that he can go and mind his pub by himself and throw myself into your arms, tell your bloody brother that he can mind his own business and that if I want to be with you, I will. But you know as well as I do that he would find ways to get us apart – and I couldn't stand that pain again. Not any more. _

_Maybe I can forget about it. Albus told me just yesterday, that I will be deputy headmistress the coming school year. And he emphasised that this will mean even more work, even more time at school – less private life. Maybe that will make it easier. _

_I hope you're well, Ab, I hope you found someone. I hope you're not still pining. _

_All my love,_

_Erva_

The current headmistress of Hogwarts sighed – and wiped a single tear from her eyes. She shoved the parchment back into the stack and summoned a fresh one, a quill and sat up further, pulling a book on her lap and put the parchment on top. She hadn't written to him in almost 20 years. It was time. Even though she would never owl it. Or bring it by.

_My dearest Ab,_

_I've heard you've given Harry a job – thank you. He needs, I think, to get away from all the publicity, from the life that everyone expected him to lead. I hope you talk to him a lot – he needs it. And Harry, I suppose, is the reason why I've once more picked up quill and parchment and once more, written to you. You don't know this, of course, but during the years, I've written to you a lot but since I'm not very brave in matters like this, I've never sent them. For various reasons. There was always something. During the calm years, when I thought that I could find you again, start anew but there was always your brother. And if he had found out, Ab, you know what would have happened. He would have killed you, probably. _

_I remember it so clearly, Ab. Almost as if it had been yesterday. The two of us, like school children, sitting hand in hand before him. _

_Your family, my family. They would never let us get married, my cousins would rather kill you than let you marry me. We'd be cut off from society, if worst came to worst, we'd have our wands snapped by an angry relative. You'd get no inheritance, I'd get none. There were threats, he said. I only found out later, much later, too late for us, when I realised that there was no real threat. That we wouldn't be loved by our families but that at least mine would have accepted it grudgingly. _

_Remember that day when you said good bye? I wanted to tell you that I wanted to fight for us, that I didn't care what people thought, that nothing mattered to me but you – and then, I couldn't when I saw your face, your eyes. _

_So sad, and you said good bye and kissed my cheek and turned around. And didn't look back. I knew then that you didn't want to go up against your brother. Even though you disliked him, maybe hated him already. _

_It seems so insignificant these days. I'm an old woman and yet, lately, since I heard that Harry had come to work with you – I can't help but think that we could have made it. We could have fought, we could have won. _

_But you didn't want to, did you? No, it's simple to lay all the blame on you. But I know that it would have been difficult. Me, a young woman, almost a girl, and you, mature, quite a few years older than me, quite experienced, never able to have a woman tie you down. And I think that when Albus said all that, that you were scared. That's quite normal, I understand, for everyone when someone gets close. Especially since you'd been alone for such a long time before I came in your life. And I think that I didn't fight hard enough for you. _

_I think today that Albus planted that thought in your head – but please correct me if I'm wrong. I think your brother told you that I'd leave you sooner or later, that I'm too young, that I would be looking for someone my age, someone who could give me children, who would grow old with me. He was that way, wasn't he? _

_Just for the record – there never was anyone else. I dedicated my life to Hogwarts, my students. I wrote articles for Transfiguration journals, developed new theories, taught, watched over the children. Fought two wars, survived – and lately, I wondered why I stayed alive. Why I fought hard to do so. And the only answer I came up with was the school. _

_It feels like I'm married to the school. And that's not a nice feeling. Married to an institution – and yet, I spend almost my entire life here. And missed so much, I think. _

_But no, I couldn't have married anyone else. It was always you. You and you. And you. _

_Why am I whining? Whining is not in my character. Still, the entire, well, thing, with you – it's never been my character. Falling so quickly, falling so hard. And crying for weeks after it ended. What can I say? It's just – I still miss you, Ab. Such a long time, and I'm still yearning and pining and loving. Horrible, isn't it? _

_I'll wrap this up now, it makes no sense, the ramblings of an old woman who has regrets. Not worth it, Ab, is it?_

_All my love,_

_Erva_

Minerva Meadhbh McGonagall shook her head at herself – crumpled up the paper into a ball and, despite her otherwise orderly nature, she threw it into the room. "Tripe," she muttered to herself. "Utter sentimental tripe."

xx

Dorothy Mathilde Rothaus changed into her pyjamas, thinking about all that had transpired that evening. She had left a little before closing time (Auntie Rose had allowed it) and had basically received the shock of her lifetime. At first, she wasn't sure whether the old man (Aberforth, Auntie Rose had said) and Harry were pulling her leg – but then, the intensity with which Harry had spoken had convinced her.

But now, back home, well, the home she had now (it didn't really feel like home yet – and all that snow didn't make her feel better about it), in her lovely room – right above the pub, right next to her Aunt Rosmerta's room, she knew she would have to read up on it. She had yet to learn about the newspapers of the place she lived at now but she knew her aunt had always some downstairs.

In woollen socks (it was cold!), Dotty tried to be very quiet as she made her way down the creaky stairs. She remembered correctly: in a neat stack by a corner table lay some papers. It was the table of the very regulars. Those, she had learned within a week, who came in once, even twice a day for a drink, a gillywater, butterbeer, firewhiskey, sheepale (whatever was in all of those liquids). She settled into the corner and picked up the first paper – called Daily Prophet.

_Harry still cleans and dries glasses at Hogsmeade pub_

That was the headline for the day? And underneath a picture of Harry – just Harry, just as she had seen him earlier – wiping the surface of the counter of the Hog's Head. She scanned the article. It said nothing. Well, apart from the fact that _Harry, the saviour of our world is still working at the Hog's Head in Hogsmead and seems to make no effort to return to auror training_. And a comment by a woman called Stina Stitter (pen-name – for sure) about _Can a barkeep protect us from the lurking dark shadows?_

She shook her head – and picked up the next paper. An Evening Prophet (apparently the evening edition of the Daily Prophet)

_Hermione Granger and Harry Potter absent – and not at Ronielle's wedding!_

The picture displayed a grinning bridal couple – her in white and him in black robes, beaming at one another, then beaming at the camera, a little kiss was then pressed on the groom's cheek, who seemed to blush. She did like those moving pictures.

She flipped the page over after reading through the article and was astonished to see a Harry that was a bit younger, hugging a young woman and the man who was the groom. Ah – so this was apparently his best friend, the one who heard the news of her ex-boyfriends marriage through the paper. And according to the article, A quick history of the Golden Trio, they hadn't been together (and apart for even a shorter amount of time) when he decided to get married – and a child on the way. Poor woman.

"Hi," her Aunt Rose came into the room, a heavy cardigan wrapped around her. "What're you doing here, girl?"

"Reading some papers," Dotty replied, "I met Harry Potter."

"Mh," Rosmerta smiled. "He's a very nice bloke but working for Abe – dreadful." She laughed and sat down next to her niece, an arm around her. "And now you're reading up on him?"

"I didn't know who he was – or what he was doing. I don't know anything about this world and what's happened here and what's the norm and what isn't," she said softly, leaning against her aunt. "I hadn't thought it would be so difficult."

"It's gonna take some time but you'll get used to it," Rosmerta kissed the top of her head. "And it suppose you've made an impression already. And if I'd've known you're going to the Hog's Head earlier, I wouldn't've let you go," she laughed a little.

"I met him yesterday. He ran me over. Or I ran him over and I liked him," Dotty shrugged.

Rosmerta chuckled and lifted her wand, "Accio hot chocolate," she spoke and cuddled her close. "Do you have any questions?"

"Plenty," Dotty smiled and smoothly caught the cup of hot chocolate that was sailing towards her.

xx

Severus Tobias Snape once more settled into his armchair, the book from Hermione in his lap, a cup of Earl Grey on the small table next to him. The tea's scent was washing over him, and he couldn't quite concentrate on what he was reading. Her face was in his mind – constantly before him.

She had been hurt – and she had yelled at him. And why?

Because once more, he had misjudged a Gryffindor. She wasn't doing this to mock him, and while he might be a project, he most certainly was almost certain, that Hermione was someone who always thanked everyone for everything. She seemed the type and when he searched his memory of images of her thanking someone for something, she popped up quite often. Potter, for one, Weasley, the idiot, the other Weasleys, after the battle, when she had first seen him again, with Minerva, thanking her for one thing or another, the other teachers.

Honest, during the Christmas dinner – she had thanked everyone – even for passing the bloody gravy. And what not. She was one of those types who was always grateful, it seemed.

He rubbed his hand over his face and groaned. Once more, once more, he had messed it up royally. With a Gryffindor.

Not to make a mistake – this time, he would most certainly not camp out in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady (he knew the password anyway) and beg for forgiveness. But he was older, wiser, and he knew how to make sure that she would brew with him again.

He hated to admit it (or maybe not) but he did like to spend time with her. When she wasn't with any other Gryffindors. Or that Luna Lovegood. Or Potter.

And then – he was a teacher these days – not a youth himself, and if he wanted to see her – or brew with him, he had the authority to summon her down in the dungeons. And he would. She still had to serve detention anyway, for breaking into his classroom.

Seriously – he would have to learn. As old as he was already – he would have to learn to accept things like that. Even though, or more likely, because they weren't happening often. Or at all, mostly. And when it happened, apparently, he wasn't even commonly courteous and grateful – but discarded it as him being a charity case.

He sighed, then shrugged to himself. That was the way it was. He couldn't change.

No, that much was true – he couldn't change.

He wouldn't change.

He sipped his tea slowly and tried to pick up the book once more when there was a sound at the door.

He knew that kind of sound – it was the tapping of an owl against it. Since his chambers in the dungeons did not have any windows, that was usually the way owls came to him. Like every single person had to (apart from Minerva – when she wanted to be quick and used the floo – but he mostly took care of that by closing the connection).

He got up heavily and opened the door – a tiny owl squeaking gratefully and flying in.

"Hermes?" he asked softly – more himself than the owl. There was a roll of parchment tied to his leg and it could only be from one person.

"Thanking and apologising, is she?" he asked the owl, fed it a treat and untied the parchment before he opened the door and wanted to let it out again. But the tiny bird remained perched on the table, staring at him. "Do you need to take back a reply?"

The owl hooted and began to preen his feathers as he unrolled the note and read.

_Professor Snape,_

_I'm applying to Wizarding Universities all through Europe and I'd ask you to write a letter of recommendation for me since I'm spending so much time brewing lately and since nobody would believe me with the Relief Potion anyway. Hermes will be waiting for your reply. _

_Thank you in advance,_

_Hermione. _

He raised his eyebrows at the underlined Thank you. But she wasn't apologising. Well, he wasn't sure. Asking him for a letter of recommendation? Nobody had done that before. And why would they? He usually wouldn't even contemplate doing something like this – and only very few students in his long time as a teacher had the potential of going into potions at all – or doing something which required a lot of potion's work and hence, had no reason to need such a letter.

He nodded at the bird, and quickly wrote a reply on a spare bit of parchment that was lying around.

_will consider. Your detention, tomorrow night, 7.30. _

He let the owl fly away and settled back into his chair. Nothing resolved – but nothing lost.

xx

She yawned and considered going to sleep – but then again, she thought that, as soon as she had gone to sleep, Hermes would come back and wake her. Not that she had sent her bird that long ago – fifteen minutes, probably. Her window was ajar (but charmed not to let snow and cold air in) and as soon as she settled back with a book, Hermes flew in (right – he needed to get down to the dungeons inside the castle, and that was only possible through the owlery, then, from the dungeons, through he owlery back outside and to her window – he needed at least ten minutes for that alone), a reply, obviously, in his beak.

"Didn't tie it to your leg?" she asked gently and took it from him. And smiled. He wasn't angry.

She leaned over and petted the bird's chest. "Go and do some good," she told him and, almost immediately, he took off into the night air.

xx

Hermes knew that most of the important people let their windows open during the night to let birds in – in case there was an emergency letter. And the headmistress was no exception. Silently, he flew around Gryffindor Tower and a bit down, swooping into her chambers. His witch had told him, after all, to do some good. And he had noticed her writing something earlier. And maybe, she had been too tired to have it delivered. So he would do it for her.

With his brilliant eyes, he saw the old but gentle person sleeping on her side, a pillow clutched to her chest and at first, he didn't see a bit of parchment but then, after a moment of looking around, he saw the crumpled ball in front of her bed. Silently, as it was the custom with owls, he flew down and picked it up with his beak.

He could make out the words Aberforth on one side where other wizards, such as his Hermione, usually wrote the address.

Hermes only knew one Aberforth. And after a tiny blink with his eyes, he was gone.

xx

Aberforth Dumbledore sat in bed, Daniela snoring on the bedside carpet. Despite all the rumours, he did nothing kinky with goats – no. He simply liked animals. He liked the company. Nobody would have thought him odd if he had a cat – or a rat – or a dog – or a toad. Trouble was – he was allergic to cats and dogs. And rats always escaped – and he strongly disliked toads. Goats were brilliant. They were faithful companions – they were quite smart, quite good watch-animals. And he liked them. He also kept an owl but said owl disliked sleeping in his bedroom – and he liked to hear someone beside him. Maybe that was odd – maybe that was strange – or kinky. But he didn't mind.

People should talk. It kept them from doing even more dangerous things.

He was just about to turn off the lights with his wand, when there was a tapping on his window. The tapping only an owl made.

Daniela was awake immediately and baaed indignantly. "Go back to sleep – it's just an owl," he explained soothingly and barefoot, he made to the window. He kept a pack of owl treats there and after receiving a ball of parchment, he fed the tiny, little bird something, he closed the window – frowning all the time.

He smoothed it slowly – and, recognising the handwriting, he felt as if his heart would stop. He had to sit down on the edge of the bed and carefully, cautiously, he began to read.

My dearest Ab...

_**xx**_


	31. Chapter 31

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

At first, he thought that it was someone who had found out – playing a nasty trick on him. Then, in addition to the very distinct handwriting (he knew it well – he had a stack of letters in a drawer – with the same handwriting, the same My dearest Ab at the beginning and the same All my love, Erva, at the end), there were things in that letter that only three people knew about.

Albus, talking to them, forbidding them to continue seeing one another, their holding hands while they were told – like school children, the way their good bye went. 1947. March 17th. And the names. Nobody called him Ab these days. Everyone said Abe. Or Aberforth. Or hey, you. And from what he had heard, nobody was allowed to call her anything other than Minerva. Or Professor. Or headmistress. He had come up with Erva – back then. Back in the beginning when nobody had known about them. Back when she was not even 20. She had hated when he called her Minnie – so, he had come up with the latter half of her name. And oddly enough, she had liked it. Liked it a lot. Had come up with Ab herself.

And she was right – she always was. He had talked him out of it. He had been scared, he had let her go when he should have held onto her. He knew that their world was a dangerous one – that she was a target, always – being so powerful, and he was a target in those days. Because he was fighting for the good side. An auror – always hunting down criminals, evil wizards.

And yes, society back then had been more prejudiced. The blood-lines were closed even more than they were now – the purebloods even more certain to marry their descendants to other purebloods. And he himself, just a lowly half-blood. Nobody cared if he was a great wizard, nobody cared if Albus was probably the greatest wizard in his time – especially in certain circles. Even though some people seemed to forget his half-bloodedness over the defeat of Grindelwald..

And Erva's family – an ancient, Scottish Wizarding clan. Worse than anything he had known before. Even marrying an English pureblood was considered problematic. French – alright, Italian, alright. But English? No. And an English half-blood? High treason.

Yes, Albus had been concerned. But he also had wanted her for himself. Not in a relationship, romantic kind of way – no. He was sure of that since he had caught him and that idiot Grindelwald in a more than passionate embrace when they'd been young. So passionate in fact, that it had blown all their clothes off. Not a sight he ever wanted to see again.

Anyway, he had planted the thought into his head – _she's too young for you, she's too good for you, she'll run off with someone else, she'll have children and a happy family but not with you. She'll leave and I'll be left to pick up the pieces. _

He had listened to him. Unfortunately. And he had never met another woman in his life who was like her – whom he loved. Or felt that he could love. She had been his – even if he couldn't have her.

Now – they were both old – the society had changed, and they had changed. His feelings – they hadn't. He still dreamed about her.

And according to this letter, hers hadn't either. He checked the pocket watch he had on the little cabinet next to his bed. 2 in the morning. Too late to do anything about it.

Too wound up to sleep.

Daniela was watching him with faint interest. "He's dead. She's the oldest of her clan. She loves me still, Daniela. I'm not a Gryffindor for nothing."

Daniela baaed.

"No, I don't care. I'm going to go up there and I tell her that I still love her. That I never forgot about her. And I'll sweep her off her feet. And I'll ask her to marry me. He's dead. He can't interfere no more. He can't tell us not to be together. And if I had been as brave then, I wouldn't have cared. I would have done it then. I would have married her, eloped, whatever. And he could have fought all of his battles alone. Without her brilliance behind him and without her keeping his back free by dealing with all the paper stuff. He's not there any more and I love her. As simple as that. I'm rekindling that. I don't care how old we are."

xx

"Damn. Damn. Damn," the headmistress, quite unusually, cursed and cursed. The letter she had written the night before – it was gone. She knew she shouldn't have just thrown it around the room – who knew which house elf had it now and which idea whoever it was had with it.

"Stero," she called, still in her nightgown.

"Yes?" the little house elf, ears round, huge and flapping, asked eagerly.

"Have you seen a piece of parchment? Lying around here somewhere?"

"No elf been up here today," she stared up guiltily and wrung her hands.

"No?"

"No, sorry!" the elf wailed and began to move towards the wall.

"No, Stero!" Minerva held her back by the clean white tea towel. "Thank you for not cleaning up already."

"Th-thank me?"

"Yes," she smiled. "Thank you. That's all I need at the moment."

The elf bowed and vanished with a pop – leaving a startled headmistress behind. If the elves hadn't cleaned up, then where had the letter gone? She went on her knees and for the fifth time that night, checked under the bed.

xx

He briskly walked up towards the table – actually he quite liked the large round table everyone shared over Christmas. It made him smirk the way almost all students tried to get out of their way not to sit next to him. But then again, during the holidays, at breakfast, nobody, except probably Minerva was as early as he was.

And maybe. Hermione.

She already sat there. Spooning some porridge, probably, not looking up. But then again, he was quite silent when he walked and why should she look up then.

"Good morning Miss Granger," he said only in the moment that he had arrived at the table and pulled a chair back. Not directly next to her – there was one in between.

"Good morning Professor Snape," she replied gently after she had swallowed what was really porridge. There was an awkward silence for a moment – he, ordering his coffee from the house elves, and her quietly eating.

"Are you sure you want to apply to Universities?" he asked after a moment.

"It seems the best option," she replied evenly. "I don't know where else I could learn what I need to learn. And besides, it will do me some good to get away for a while."

He nodded. "I doubt you would have to learn much."

She looked up suddenly. "Is that a compliment?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I never pay compliments, Miss Granger."

She smiled. "Of course not. But yes, I do think that I have plenty of things to learn. For writing up this paper," she pulled a heavy roll of parchment from where it had obviously been sitting on the chair behind her, "I had to consult at least ten books – and while that usually is no problem, there were some older cross-references, and some older bibliographies with which I had trouble."

"Mh. They're not standardised yet in older books."

"Indeed not. And sometimes, an author refers to something and he doesn't name the book. It's unnerving. So you have to find a way..."

"They do mention the books, mostly – only, back then, and back then here means about 60 years ago, they don't do so openly in footnotes or maybe an index at the end. There are like hints in the texts."

"Why?" Hermione asked curiously.

He smirked. "Not wanting others to know that they had quoted verbatim, not wanting readers to know that their ideas were not their ideas, who knows?"

"But you say there are hints?"

"Of course. If there were none – it is called plagiarism. That was their way."

She stared at him – her eyes brown, huge, curious, glimmering, long, dark lashes surrounded them – no make-up, he noted idly.

"But how would you find that then?"

He sighed. "Your quest for knowledge knows no bounds, does it, Miss Granger?"

She smirked suddenly. "Of course not. Does yours?"

"His? Are you joking? The man without his nose in the books would be a novelty," the headmistress had appeared suddenly and sat down between the two of them.

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall," Hermione smiled.

"Good morning Miss Granger," she smiled, then turned to her other side. "Severus."

"Minerva," he grumbled back – his tone quite changed from before, he noted himself. He would have to stop that. He couldn't talk that gently to Hermione. He couldn't do that.

"We were talking about the missing bibliographies in older books."

"One of Severus's specialities, I see," the headmistress smirked.

"It is?" Hermione leant forward, her elbows on the table and directed her words at him.

"No," he protested almost immediately.

"He is," Minerva argued back. "He's figured out at least ten volumes mentioned in other books – and those helped more than the originals in the context."

"Really?" Hermione asked again – her eyes shining with something he couldn't place.

He rolled his eyes. "No."

"Yes, he did," Minerva slapped him on the arm. "Don't lie to the poor girl."

"And if I don't lie to the _girl_, she'll ask me to teach her," he groaned.

"Would you?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Miss Granger, do you, or do you not have NEWTs this year? Quite soon?"

She nodded – paling ever so slightly. "Well, I mean, erm, yes, but..."

He waved the but off but before he could say something, Minerva spoke again. "I believe Miss Granger is quite ahead of her studies already."

"No, no, it's quite alright. Professor Snape is right," she replied, sounding very disappointed. "I have more than enough work already."

"And detention," Severus drawled – as silkily as it was possible with his damaged vocal chords.

"Severus!" Minerva glared at him. "Don't tell me you gave her detention during the break."

"It was my own fault," Hermione said simply. "Really. I, erm, I tried to break into his storeroom. I wanted to brew a potion and I didn't have all the ingredients and..."

"So she earned detention," he finished – somewhat amazed that she was capable of lying like this. Yes, she had broken in somewhere – his classroom – not the storeroom – but she hadn't stolen anything, on the contrary. She wanted to bring something.

Was she ashamed of giving him a present? Or – and that seemed to be more like her – didn't she want him to be embarrassed?

Once more, he was given two choices – two things to believe. And something deep inside him wanted to believe that she did it for him – and not for herself.

"Well, if that's...," the headmistress began and suddenly, paled and clutched at her chest.

She stared towards the doors – and he, as well as apparently Hermione followed her glance. It was only 7 in the morning, the day after Boxing Day, no student was up that early – and the man, rushing into the Great Hall hadn't been a student for decades – no, a century.

"Aberforth?" Hermione asked quietly – and he felt like asking the same thing. Only Minerva, Minerva sat very still, except for her breathing. That was rapid.

The old man rushed towards them, a piece of parchment clutched in his hands.

xxx

"Erva," Hermione heard him gasp and, quite rudely, he pulled the chair she sat on away and knelt down next to the headmistress.

"What...What's happened?" a very puzzled Professor McGonagall asked.

Hermione herself, stood up and moved a little away, she had almost fallen on the floor – this old man was stronger than he knew and pulling the chair away had a great impact on her.

"Are you alright?" the voice of Severus asked behind her. Apparently he had gotten up as well – and had moved behind her.

"Yes," she replied. "But what's going on there?" she asked, nodding towards Aberforth who was still kneeling, but was now holding the parchment in his left hand, and McGonagall's in his own right.

"Who knows? The entire Dumbledore family is crackers," he whispered – a hint of humour in her voice.

"The headmistress seems a bit shocked," she whispered back, holding back on a giggle.

"Maybe he's proposing now," Severus spoke softly, almost jokingly and she turned around quickly to see if it was really him. He smirked at her and took a step back – as if he wanted to grant the two older people more privacy.

She followed him – but not so far that she couldn't make out the words.

Both of them hadn't spoken – but now – now, he began. Aberforth began.

"Erva, I got your letter," he whispered.

"My, my letter?" she stuttered, paling even further.

"Yes. You wrote it last night. I don't think I was supposed to get it."

"The letter I wrote last night?" she asked, her eyes widening unnaturally.

Hermione felt his body behind her again, even though he wasn't touching her. She spoke, softly again, before she could help herself. "I don't think I've ever seen her so afraid. Not even when you-know-who was there."

"Neither did I," he answered. "You would be scared if Aberforth Dumbledore was kneeling before you, wouldn't you?"

"I'd be scared if any man knelt in front of me," she giggled a little, then saw that they were talking again.

"Yes, Erva. I got it. And I've read it and instead of writing back because one never knows with owls and everything...you did write the letter, didn't you?"

The headmistress nodded. "I never meant for you to get it. I was looking for it this morning and it wasn't there and the poor house elf almost punished herself because I thought she had it."

"The headmistress is rambling," Hermione informed Severus, still standing quite close, but not touching, behind her.

"She's been known to do that on occasion," Severus replied.

"Really?"

"Did you mean what you wrote?" Aberforth asked, seemingly holding her hand even tighter.

Minerva opened her mouth – but no sound came out.

"What was in that letter, do you know?" Hermione turned a little and saw him shake his head.

"Did you mean it, Erva?" Aberforth asked again.

"And since when is she called Erva?" Hermione asked again.

"I've never heard it before," Severus replied quickly, poking her shoulder to make her look at the two older people again.

And it was worth it – a small tear fell down the headmistress' eye and the only surviving Dumbledore reached out – let the parchment slide on the floor and brushed it away gently – his hand lingering on her cheek, brushing tears away even when there were none.

"Do you think you could probably lock the doors? I'm not sure..." Hermione did not have to finish her sentence when she felt him pull his wand from his sleeve and cast a charm on the massive doors of the Great Hall. "Thank you," she whispered softly.

"That again," he groaned but only received a warm smile from her over her shoulder.

"Erva, don't cry," Aberforth said softly.

"Ab, I – I never, this is..."

"Shhh, it's alright."

"It's not," the headmistress seemed to choke on her words. "You should have never known."

"That would have been quite unfair, don't you think?" Aberforth asked.

"What? What?" Hermione asked Severus impatiently.

"If you wouldn't have written that letter – and that tiny owl wouldn't have brought it..."

"Tiny owl?" Hermione asked, alarmed and turned around. "Hermes. After I got your note he flew off..."

"It could be any bird," Severus replied impatiently.

"I would have never known that you still love me, Erva."

The headmistress sobbed once, and muffled it behind the sleeves of her robes.

Hermione gasped and turned to Severus. She had taken to mouthing now. "Love him?" Severus Snape glared at her and turned her by the shoulders to watch the scene unfold further. She grimaced but it was true – this was exciting. But she had never expected the grumpy Potions Master to watch something like this with the greatest of interest.

"And you should know that I never stopped loving you either."

The headmistress choked – sobbed – all in one. But Aberforth merely smiled and continued to caress her cheek and hand. "So I'm asking you, Minerva Meadhbh McGonagall, will you marry me?"

_**xx**_


	32. Chapter 32

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Hermione knew this was a moment that nobody should trespass on. She turned to Severus again and smiled. "It's sweet," she mouthed but her smiled widened when she saw him rolling his eyes.

"She'll say no," he mouthed back and she shook her head vehemently.

"No."

He nodded and nudged his head towards the pair of them.

xx

Her heart stopped – or maybe it was beating fast. Or maybe – maybe there was a heart once more.

"Ab," she whispered and her hand found its way to his cheek. "I – I, erm, don't know what to say."

"The same thing you said all those years ago," he replied, just as softly and she felt transported back – back to a time when she was young and hadn't hesitated for one second before she said yes. His eyes were so like they had been – they hadn't aged at all. But then again, she didn't know these days how his eyes would affect her – so alike to his brother's whom she loved – and loathed at the same time.

"He's dead, Erva," he whispered urgently. "He can't come between us any more. And we missed so much – we missed sixty years – we wasted them. I don't want to waste any more time. Please?"

She shook her head slowly. "I'm not the same any more."

His eyes widened in fear. "But..."

"It's not that simple."

"It can be."

"No. 60 years, Ab, and you storm in here and ask me to marry me," she sighed. "Sixty!"

"So?"

"It's almost a lifetime."

"For an elephant," he retorted quickly and clutched her hand tighter, "not for us. We can be two hundred."

She shook her head and bit her lip hard. "Ab..."

"Erva, no. I will not take no for an answer. If I'm too quick, if I surprised you – I'll come back tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that. Until you say yes."

She smiled weakly – not able to sort her emotions. "You're naïve if you think this is going to work."

"I'm not naïve. I've never been naïve. I've made a mistake all those years ago – and I want to rectify it."

Minerva shook her head – overwhelmed. She got up and pulled her hand away. "I can't."

xx

Severus knew that this wasn't the headmistress' final answer. Sure, she would storm out now – but he knew Aberforth – and he knew that he wouldn't let go.

But – it was a mystery. He, the former spy who had made it his mission to know most everything about everyone had not known about it – and that was why he had stayed. That was why he had listened so raptly. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was fascinated by someone asking someone else to marry them – and had nothing to do with such a blunt declaration of love. No – it it had everything to do with getting to know facts.

Facts that could be bargaining chips in the future.

He was just about to turn and leave the Great Hall, when, from the corner of his eyes, he saw Hermione rushing towards Aberforth and pulling the man up on a chair.

He groaned inwardly and moved gracefully towards them.

"I'm sure she'll come around," he heard Hermione say softly.

"I've loved her for so long," the old man replied croakily. "And I've been to rash and spoiled it."

"Nobody understands rashness better than that model Gryffindor Minerva," Severus said, surprising himself – unsure whether he had just tried to comfort someone.

"Too true," Hermione smiled encouragingly.

"I should get back to the Head," Aberforth replied, "Harry's alone and who knows what..."

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Severus and tried to convey something – though what, he didn't know.

"Tell her," the old man began, "tell her that...nothing."

xx

She watched him walk away, he would need a while probably to lick his wounds, but she had no doubt that he would come back sooner or later. That this would work out nicely. Eventually. Hopefully.

"Do you think she'll come around?" she asked him quietly.

He looked at her, "I wouldn't know."

She nodded and breathed deeply. "Alright," she replied.

She had ventured too far, probably. Asking one question too many. Yes, they had just seen a wonderful, horrible thing together. The declaration of love – wonderful, magnificent. Minerva's rebuttal – horrible.

Whenever Hermione had thought of the headmistress, she had seen a woman, yes, on a conscious level but never someone who loved anyone more than the school, and her position, someone who was capable of passion, of longing, of anything other than believing the mere facts. Minerva always struck her as very reasonable, level-headed no-nonsense person – someone who didn't let her guard down for something as silly as love.

Wait – hadn't she just been the one being, if not heartbroken, then at least sad that Ron had left her? But didn't she just as well think that all those usual, lovey-dovey, soppy, idiotic were a waste of time?

She knew it was hypocritical – mourning the loss of her relationship and at the same time condemning all those things, those little facets that made a relationship a relationship – at least from what she had read. And heard.

No, honestly, while she was impressed, touched and thought it was beautiful how Aberforth had knelt and said those words, she could never understand how someone, women, or girls, were so over the moon whenever a guy had told them that he loved them. That this was a reason for celebration.

Ron had said it – a few times – too often in the end, probably – and she had never felt the rush inside, the rush of adrenaline she was supposed to feel (according to her limited sources). No – she had just replied, always, and in retrospect, it seemed almost automatically.

No, it had been nothing special. Never.

And yes, somewhere inside, she had supposed that eventually, she would end up like the headmistress. Dedicated to some work – giving her life to it. She knew, really knew, that this was a cynical view for a nineteen-year old, for someone who had not really experienced love – but that was just the problem, wasn't it? She wasn't sure whether she ever would – and, worse, if she wanted to.

For one, the sort of love she had experienced (she doubted it was the kind of love people had written books and sonnets and whatnot about) had, so far, only brought her pain (though that could have been worse, much worse) and on the other hand, she wasn't even sure that kind of love even existed.

And hell, even the headmistress, while someone had professed their love for her, had cried and ran away.

Oh no, love, she decided in that moment, walking up towards the library (thank God Madam Pince had returned early from her holidays), was not for her and she would stay away from it.

Pink was not her colour, she had never doodle little hearts on the margins her textbooks or anywhere else (well, apart from the time when she had had that idiotic, youthful crush on Lockhart – but she had been a little girl back then. She was a woman now), she despised Valentine's day and anything that came in either pink- or heart-shaped wrappings. And she had been honest when she had said that she'd be scared if any man knelt before her.

She would be. She didn't want that – someone at her feet.

'Yes,' she thought as she pushed the door to the library open, 'I'll stay away from it and concentrate on my work. My future. My own future.'

xx

Severus needed some fresh air – muttering in his head. He was one of those few people who, in his head, commented almost everything – in sometimes a muttering, a yelling, a soft, or an angry voice. This time, he was muttering to himself – in his head. 'So much emotion gives me indigestion.'

And he had found, during long years of probably feeling queasy about one thing or another – that the only thing that helped, was fresh air and a brisk walk across the quidditch pitch, down to the lake, around the east end of it, then, along Hagrid's hut, back to the castle. It never failed to clear his head, and saved him from any digestive problems that one or the other thing might cause.

The cold, moist air tickled his lungs and made him dizzy for the first moment when he stepped outside. It seemed to be warming a bit and the usual after Christmas thawing would set in soon – probably even before the New Year. He supposed it had to be that way, since the snow over Christmas was, most likely, an ancient spell from the founders – and not real at all. And when the temporary spell wore off, the thawing began – and the disgusting wet, rainy, muddy weather began. Weather that caused everyone to huddle in inside.

But not yet – maybe tomorrow – maybe the day after. And that would be the test for Hermione. If she hurt, or had tremors then, something would be wrong with the potion and was interacting with the contraceptive she was taking. If she was still taking it – and then, he would have to make adjustments. If he had the tremors as well, something had to be done with the potion. But he doubted it – he felt just fine and had felt so all the time.

The snow crunched underneath his dragon hide boots. Actually, he preferred snow to sunshine – and winter to summer. It was the quietness of it all, really – the birds weren't singing quite so disgustingly, the snow muffled all unnecessary sound when it was needed to do so, it obscured things – and made even very ugly sights bearable. It was like a heavy, sheltering blanket – one, someone could even consider warm – if it wasn't known that it was cold – so freezing, so deadly.

He sighed – 'maudlin,' he scolded himself but seeing Minerva like this – with Aberforth kneeling in front of her – it had made him think, more than he wanted to, he knew.

He couldn't understand the deep abiding love that caused someone to humiliate himself like this – or so he tried to convince himself. It wasn't true. He knew deep abiding love. But it hadn't brought him joy and now, he knew, that those years he had spent loving Lily – or obsessing over her – had been painful, had hurt, had been full of regrets, full of guilt.

And if love felt this way, he wanted no part of it.

In fact, even when he had still loved her, when she had still been his strength to go on – her memory and the debt he owed her, he had tried to rid himself from it, purge himself, probably. And it hadn't worked. Only after that near-death experience, after almost dying, he had lost the connection. He had known he had repaid it – more than repaid it.

His Patronus was the proof of that. A horse. Not a bloody effeminate doe any more. Even though – he had adored the doe. It had been quick and smart. The horse now, well, it was strong but thin, a fighter, apparently. The reading he had done on it had led him to some strange conclusions as well – a sign of death, even named Death apparently – leading back to the Revelation and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Him – with a Patronus that had biblical roots.

He chuckled silently to himself. Thin but strong. A fighter. A symbol for death. It was him. Fully, completely. Absolutely.

And not a doe. Who needed a doe when one had a horse?

A slight whooshing sound made him look up and he, once more, chuckled (not that he remembered the last time he had chuckled twice in a day, much less in such a short span of time). The headmistress, despite her many years, sat astride a broom, flying with high speed – loops, zigzag. She may be over 70, but she still made quite the figure on a broomstick – and he could see, he could have even seen it if he hadn't known – that she had been a brilliant chaser once. And she most certainly had the speed.

He knew she had gone flying a lot – when the threat that you-know-who had posed wasn't that imminent – when she needed a clear head. Like himself when he was walking.

Odd, but he had never really perceived her as a woman – a mother figure of sorts, but since mothers were for children only rarely sexual beings (and if they were, something was certainly wrong), he had never thought about her love-life. Or lack thereof. He had known, of course, that she was not married, that she didn't have any children, that she had concentrated on work, the school, but he had never thought that this was the case due to anything other than her own choice. But the way it had sounded like, it hadn't been her own free will.

Albus – the major meddler. The manipulator. He had cost so many people their happiness – but he had never thought Minerva had been one of his victims. And his own brother. That, he would have never thought of.

Minerva seemed to notice him and he knew that he could not get away. She was one of those women (or rather had been – before all this deceit and the headmaster-ship that had been forced on him) who found he was someone she could talk to. Why? She had explained it once.

Because he listened (or pretended to) and while giving snarky remarks, they were helpful. He wasn't someone who offered comfort lightly, but, she had explained, if she wanted coddling, she'd talk to Poppy. Because he was brutally honest.

Basically the same reasons Hermione had given him sooner. And he could live with that. Sort of.

And he knew that Hermione would wriggle her way into his life as Minerva had – confiding in him, because he would never tell (he might use it to his own advantage, against them, Minerva had said, but never to gossip).

She swooped down and landed gracefully in front of him.

"A walk?" she asked, shrinking the broom and fixing her hair underneath her hat.

"Obviously," he drawled.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked and he knew that the talking would begin at any moment.

"If you must," he answered and began walking towards the pitch.

"He already asked me 60 and a half years ago," she began hesitantly – but when he merely kept on walking and didn't comment or fastened his steps, she knew she had his permission to go on. It had been this way since two years after he had began teaching.

xx

Severus was the one person she could trust to keep her secrets. Merlin, he had kept such massively huge secrets to himself that any other person would have exploded. Or imploded. She never knew.

And he only listened – he did offer advice, snarkily, sneeringly, probably, but it was always sensible. And short.

"Albus kept us from it. The times back then were different and my family would have probably killed us. He's forty years older than I am. Well, thirty-nine. But he was – Severus, back then, he was dashing. Handsome and I fell for him, so hard," she shrugged. "It was scary and wonderful at the same time. But I suppose you know what I'm talking about."

She knew that he never talked about Lily Evans – and she wouldn't. Apart from such short sentences. She knew he hated to be reminded.

He stared straight ahead and said nothing, gave no other way of reaction. So, she just ploughed ahead. "And we broke up. Because Albus said so. I was eighteen and so inexperienced. And Albus was the big hero – everyone believed him anything. It wasn't quite as bad as it is with Potter today, but coming close," she smiled at him when he growled at the mention of Harry but didn't comment it further.

"I haven't seen him since. Until today and a glimpse, once in a while in Hogsmeade. I haven't spoken to him in all those years. But I've written to him. I've never sent one single letter – until this one last night. Just because Potter started working for him and I kept thinking about it," she walked next to him and on impulse, looped her arm through his. He grimaced but didn't push her away. And still said nothing.

"I have no idea how he got it but I was so sentimental last night – and he had to get it, right? And today, he shows up and asks me to marry him," she continued, quietly, tiredly.

"He's a Gryffindor," Severus said simply.

"I know. But so am I," she pulled on his arm and made him stop. "And what should I do?" she asked – looking deeply into his eyes.

"What you always do," he replied cryptically.

"And what is that?" she asked back.

"Do what you want to do," he raised his eyebrows. "Of course."

"Of course," she sighed. "But this time, I do not know what I want."

He nodded curtly. "You will find it out."

"You're not helpful, Severus," she cried and hit his arm.

"I'm not known for helpfulness," he replied quickly. "But sixty years is a long time."

"That's what I'm thinking. But then again..."

"Minerva..." he groaned.

"I know, I know. I'll do what I think is right, what I want to. But why do I always have to decide with my head?"

"I think," Severus replied pensively, "this is one matter where you shouldn't use your head."

This struck her – and she stood still. "But my heart..."

"Yes," Severus replied simply and unwrapping her hand from his arm, he strode away.

Her heart – crippled organ. But this crippled organ knew the answer. And, enlarging her broom, she followed it.

xx

He smirked when he saw her fly over his head. He had known it would work that way.

Love – love was for some people. And apparently it was for Minerva – and most certainly not for him.

But that was alright.

_**xx**_


	33. Chapter 33

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**I am not a native speaker of English. So there might be grammatical errors or typos or mistakes in there. I apologise. **_

_**xx**_

Of course she managed to get him to teach her some basics on how to find sources hidden in a book – in fact, the 'detention' was spent with him lecturing, and her taking notes. The day after that as well – and the day after that. Actually, all the days until New Year's Eve while the rain had set in outside – and the snow had melted into nothing – except the dirty-grey lumps where Hagrid had shovelled the pathways.

Not that anyone noticed that Hermione spent most of her days in the dungeons – learning. The headmistress had disappeared – and from what he had found out from a floo call to the Hog's Head – Aberforth hadn't shown his face either and Potter was managing the pub on his own (even though he had spotted a girl carrying mugs and glasses he didn't know).

The upside was that Hermione had not had the tremors again – though why, or why not – he wasn't sure yet.

Severus – with his excessive knowledge of human beings – didn't really want to think about what the two old people were up to. He just hoped that they had eloped – and not only tucked up upstairs at the Hog's Head. The thought alone made him feel sick. Slightly.

He had received an owl though from her. But that merely said that she would be there for dinner at New Year's Eve. And she was expecting everyone else to be there as well.

At least it was signed Minerva McGonagall. Not Dumbledore. That was something.

But maybe – maybe, she hadn't gone to him. Maybe her reasonable side had taken over again and she was somewhere – licking her wounds.

Yes, he was curious – very curious. But then again, it was only about two hours until dinner that night. And seven until the new year.

He would probably begin it the way he had begun it in the past years – sleeping. Going to bed at around eleven (too early for him, usually, but he saw no sense in celebrating something like this. Not because he didn't believe in the New Year – he did – but merely because he didn't think it was worth celebrating. Making resolutions – no. Definitely not for him.

Well, for a long time, the only resolution he did have was to stay alive. But next year? 1999. It sounded nice – sort of. The last year of something old – before the new millenium started. And still – it wasn't anything special. Aside from that fact that that year would not begin with threats – would not begin with torture. Would not begin with deceit and lies and those around him glaring at him – hating him – distrusting him (well, maybe they still did that? Who knew?). It would begin with – sleep.

Hopefully undisturbed.

Wait – nightmares.

His nightmares had lessened. They didn't occur as often as they had. Definitely not every night – more like one every fortnight. Since even before the potion. Since...he wasn't sure.

And all of that without Dreamless Sleep Potion. He sighed softly. Something had helped keep the nightmares at bay. And he wondered if it would be a good idea to visit the courtyard that night – instead of sleeping. It seemed symbolic – somehow – for a new beginning.

xx

"Well?" Aberforth asked, standing in front of the tiny mirror he had in his bathroom.

"Well?" Minerva asked, standing behind him, barefoot, in her light, white under-robes, her arms around his waist and her chin on his shoulder.

"These clothes alright?"

She smiled. "Of course they are, Ab," she whispered into his ear.

"My first meal at Hogwarts since...ages ago," he sighed – locking his eyes with hers in the mirror.

"Are you regretting it?"

"Regretting it? Are you out of your mind? How could I regret marrying the most beautiful woman in the world?" he turned and hugged her tightly.

"Meals at Hogwarts?" she prompted, her head on his chest now.

"Only occasionally, you promised, Erva," he reminded her.

"Yes. We alternate weekends between here and up at the castle and during the week, we'll see," she recited, laughing. "We'll manage. And I doubt if it would be good if we spent every day, twenty-four hours together."

"I did enjoy being with you all the time," he mock-pouted.

"Ab," she said threateningly, "we talked about this."

"I know we did," he grinned, then kissed her temple. "I'm just riling you up. Because you're even more beautiful when you're angry and annoyed."

Minerva huffed – but surrendered quickly when he pressed his lips on hers – and kissed her. Kissed her – kissed her all the time because they had sixty years to make up for.

xx

Hermione smiled and almost automatically sat down next to him – it had become custom for them, somehow – he didn't mind because she could engage him in interesting conversation without annoying him – and she knew when to let him eat in peace. On the other hand, he could say something and get not only blank looks – but she never wore that look – instead her eyes were sparkling and alive.

She had informed him about what she thought about the headmistress and her – whatever he was now. Hermione was absolutely sure that the two of them had wed. Gretna Green – maybe. Or another form of bonding somewhere. And if she had dared to ask him (which, oddly enough, she hadn't), he would have assured her that he was basically of the same opinion.

But even though she had somehow opened up to him – she treated him with the utmost respect. Sir after every second sentence, thank you after every third. And he could get used to the latter. Very much so.

And frankly, he had gotten used to her presence. And didn't mind it at all.

"Will the headmistress be here tonight?" Hermione turned to him and pulled him effectively out of his thoughts.

"She owled me – and said she would be," he explained and tapped his fingers on the table. A tall glass of pumpkin juice appeared.

"Pumpkin juice?" Hermione asked grinning.

Severus turned his head and raised his eyebrows slightly. "Anything to say about it?"

She smiled cheekily. "I've never seen you drink it, that's all."

"I like it," he answered simply, and took a large gulp.

"I can see that," she laughed.

xx

She had noticed him not drinking alcohol in the past few weeks. Sometimes, there seemed to be a spell that made whatever it was he was drinking look like alcohol but the way he was drinking it didn't look like it was. And now, he was openly drinking juice.

She suspected that he had had his experience with alcohol – and had probably at one point in his life, drank too much.

Somehow, she was proud of him. Proud that he was sitting there, drinking it without hiding. She smiled at him again. He had changed a little in the weeks she had more contact with him, even though – maybe had had always been like this, she didn't know. But, when all was said and done, she had gotten to know the man behind the mask a little. Only a little, mind. He was talking mostly and...

Her thoughts stopped when she saw a couple walk in. A couple – hand in hand. She had never seen the headmistress so happy. She was beaming, her entire face was lit up. And Aberforth next to her – she doubted she would ever seen a man so proud. And so happy. And so content. And so protective. And so – wow.

She merely stared. Couldn't help herself.

They were oozing happiness.

"Good evening," Professor McGonagall said gently when the arrived at the table where Ab pulled a chair back and let her sit first before he sat down on her right.

Nobody, Hermione knew, had witnessed the heart-wrenching display of Aberforth except her and Severus. And she didn't really think Severus would speak up. Risking a glance at him – he wore a triumphant smirk on his face, his fingers stapled together resting on the table.

She was proven wrong – and he spoke, before the rest of the shocked teachers – and students could even utter one sound (well, there had been some gasping and choking sounds).

"So – how do we call you now?" he asked. "Please don't say I have to say Professor Dumbledore."

Minerva laughed. "No, Severus. I kept my own name," she winked at her Potions Master, then, smiling turned to her – husband.

"I couldn't do this to her," Aberforth grinned proudly and laced his fingers through hers once more.

Severus – at the same time – nodded sharply. "What a relief," he remarked, an unknown, warm undertone in his voice.

"Congratulations," Hermione offered honestly.

xx

He liked to see all his colleagues so shocked – and the students, well, apart from Hermione, in a state of, well, more than shock. And that lasted all through dinner. Some Hufflepuff third year couldn't even eat – but merely stared at Minerva. Who, in turn, seemed completely oblivious for once, of the attention she was getting.

No, she was so focused on her husband just as he was focused on her. He smirked to himself. Dealing with her in the future would be so much simpler.

"Good night," Hermione next to him said suddenly and stood up. He hid his puzzlement well – but as soon as she had turned her back, he checked his pocket watch. Nine thirty. Not late at all.

xx

New Year's Eve was the day she disliked most in the year probably. She wasn't sure why – or when it had started. But this was the day that she reminisced on the year – and mostly, she thought of the things that had gone wrong. And there'd been so many in 1998.

She had survived, yes. She had survived against a lot of odds. But she couldn't help remembering those who hadn't and when she had seen Minerva so obviously happy with her Ab, she hadn't been able to stop wondering how many people never had the chance to experience, to see such happiness. They had fought a war, yes. And they had won. But they had paid a high enough price for it. And suddenly, the Great Hall had seemed too small and she had to leave.

She had gone back to the courtyard, had cast charms that kept her half-way warm and dry and she watched the rain falling around her, while she had her knees drawn up to her chest, her chin resting on her knees, her arms slung around her calves. She just wore jeans and a jumper and she knew she would have to go inside sooner or later. Now that Severus had agreed to teach her (and still hadn't decided on a letter of recommendation – merely because he, quote, thought university was a waste of time, unquote) she couldn't very well afford to get a cold. Not when he had been so nice. Lecturing all the time – telling her all the things he knew. Or maybe not all the things. But a lot of things.

She pulled her legs up a little tighter and leaned her head against the wall behind her.

This day depressed her. Full stop. And the more she thought about what horrible things the past year had done, the more she slipped away into her mind, back into her memories.

Her and Ron going down into the Chamber of Secrets. Kissing Ron. Fighting. Thinking Harry was dead. Thinking Severus was dead – seeing him lying there. Finding him three days later deadly pale and unconscious in the Hospital Wing under Poppy's care.

Images, much like a film, played out before her eyes. Badly cut – jumping from one place to another, never stopping. Bellatrix. Her wand. The floor at Malfoy Manor before she couldn't remember.

Her parents returning and sending her away. The maliciousness with which her mother had spoken. The shock upon hearing about Ron – and him ending it with her.

The shooting pain in her back – the tremors in her hands and feet – the need for Dreamless Sleep Potion.

Yes, yes, they had won the war – but when all was said and done, Hermione Granger hadn't had a good year.

She couldn't tell one image from another – Voldemort's voice in her head dubbing over everything.

xx

She sat there, all alone, huddled against the wall. So forlorn and obviously, something was wrong. Tears were running down her cheeks and yet she didn't seem to notice at all. She shivered and Severus wondered whether the tremors had come back. But in that weather, even with a warming charm, she would freeze in only her jeans and jumper.

He quickly summoned the blanket from his chambers and stepped closer. She seemed quite out of it. Her eyes were blank and unnaturally wide and she was staring off somewhere in the distance.

He had no other choice, he knew. Quietly, with his legs feeling oddly stiff, he sat down next to her, the blanket he had used all those weeks ago to keep her warm, in his hands. He had cast strong charms on himself to keep warm and dry. But then again, he was also wearing his robes and they kept him warm.

She still hadn't noticed him. She still stared off into the distance. And quite stiffly, he put the blanket around her shoulders.

"Professor Snape?" she asked – as if she was just coming out of a trance.

"Miss Granger, you know you shouldn't be out here in that weather. I will not continue to give you extra lessons with pneumonia," he said snarkily.

"I cast charms," she protested. Quite weakly, he noted and knew he had been too harsh – so he decided on silence. She would talk.

But suddenly, she noticed the tears running down her cheeks, and wiped them away with the back of her hand – in effect lifting the blanket slightly. She turned her head and looked at it thoroughly.

"Where did that come from?" she asked curiously, looking at him.

"I couldn't let you freeze to death, could I? I'm sure Mister Potter would not like that," he drawled.

"That blanket? It's yours?"

He remained silent – and knew that he had just given himself away. Sorely tempted to use an obliviate on her, his wand-hand twitched. But then, he felt a clammy thing on said hand – and, looking down, he saw it was her hand. But that wasn't all.

She lifted his hand – and pulled his arm over her head, ducked slightly and scooted closer – and let his rest on her shoulder while she pulled her legs tighter to herself and and rested her head against his shoulder.

She was in his arm. Sitting next to him. In his arm. He had his arm around her shoulder. And she was resting against him. Leaning on him.

His hand, slowly, fell and landed on her upper arm, holding her arm.

His legs were stretched out – and she huddled against him now. Her side against his – her head against his shoulder.

And no – he couldn't believe it.

She had forced him into a hug. Again.

And – he didn't fight it. At all. On the contrary.

xx

She couldn't tell why she did it. The sudden realization that it had been him that had tucked her into a blanket and a sleeping bag had overwhelmed her – and surprised her and she knew that the warmth of the blanket was not enough. She remembered his hug, his calming presence during the past months – and this seemed to be the highlight of her year. She had found a friend in him – and acted on mere instinct – or maybe impulse.

She took his hand and, over her head, put it around her own shoulder, snuggling closer to him. Maybe it was the dreariness of the night – the day – the depression – she didn't know for sure.

But what she knew was that it felt good – and when his hand held onto her upper arm, she knew that he didn't mind.

Hermione closed her eyes and let her head fall gently against his shoulder – or maybe the place between shoulder and chest. She wasn't sure and she didn't care, especially since she thought she could hear his heartbeat, so steadily. But maybe it was just her own. So calming, so soothing.

xx

And they sat together in the courtyard. Neither of them could say how long. And neither minded the closeness.

_**xx**_


	34. Chapter 34

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**Since many of you asked – this is a short chapter but it only has Hermione and Severus!**_

_**xx**_

"I dislike this day," she said softly after an eternity. Her voice was slightly muffled and even quieter since she spoke half into his robes, half to the ground.

"Excuse me?" he asked even though he had understood perfectly.

She shifted up slightly but never left his side. "I dislike this day. New Year's. Makes me think about things."

"Don't worry. It's not going to be New Year's much longer," he replied.

"Don't you ever have that feeling?" she asked, looking up.

"I suppose not. Even though I do not know what feeling you're talking about," he answered.

She shrugged, her shoulders lifting his arm and he carefully pulled it back and had both of his hands in his lap. She still sat close – her side against his arm. But somehow, he missed her warmth. "I don't know. Looking back and thinking about everything that went wrong?"

He tilted his head to the side and locked eyes with her. He stood, he knew, at crossroads. Pushing her away – or being honest and not pushing her away. Postpone the pushing away, probably. But, his shoulder tingled where her head had rested and her eyes were hopeful, open, warm. "If you repeat any of this to Potter or any other person, I'll make sure you don't remember any of it. My hand could just slip over your morning tea,"

She smiled and nodded. "I promise I won't repeat any of this verbatim, in a condensed or any other version. I promise all that's said in this courtyard remains in this courtyard."

He nodded sharply. "No."

"No? No what?"

"I was answering your question," he retorted quickly.

"Erm, you don't look back and think...oh," she bit her lip, then slowly, let it slid out again. "Because you...I see."

He knew she would understand. Without him having to spell it out. "Precisely," he whispered.

"This past year – I just thought earlier, that, I mean we won the war but lost so much," she apparently thought loudly. "And this thought – I mean, I do know, technically, I mean, my head knows, that war is always like this. That during war you have to make sacrifices and those sacrifices probably haunt you for the rest of our lives and that everyone in that war has scars and marks and some come out crippled – physiologically, psychologically. I was so naïve, Professor, I actually thought when I realised that we had won – I mean, I thought that now – from that moment on, life would be good again, hearts and flowers and sunshine and noodle salad. But – nothing, nothing was right. It's not that I don't understand it – but maybe I can't grasp it. Or the other way. around"

"It is the other way around, Miss Granger. You grasp it but you don't understand it."

"Do you?" she asked softly.

"No," he replied simply.

"My grandfather, he fought in the Second World War. Submarine. He came back with a wounded leg. It was nothing bad, he didn't even limp later on but he always told stories about then. Always. About his mates he had lost, about how claustrophobic it had been, but most of all, how scared he sometimes was. And that he knew, even if he would survive, that life would never be the same. That he would return to my grandmother, that he would marry her and get children but that he had lost his innocence. That he would never look at the world the same way again. Not after seeing people die. Not seeing how they had to torpedo German submarines or being torpedoed themselves."

"Innocence is the first victim of every war," he replied gently.

"See? This is what I mean. I can grasp it – or understand it. But not the other one. In my head, I know it, but I'm possibly, I don't know, regretting that it has to be the way."

"You will sooner free house elves than ever change that," he replied and she stared at him in astonishment.

"How do you know that?" she asked incredulously.

"The house elves talk," he smirked. "But as you said, what's said in this courtyard, stays in this courtyard."

"But – I mean – thank you for lightening the subject. I was getting morose again."

"It's the effect this day has," he said softly, "one naturally looks back."

Hermione sighed. "But I don't want to. Just earlier I had all those images in my head – and they were pulling me down, weighing me down, getting me away from reality. All those cruel, bad things, and you-know-who's voice over everything, calling for Harry and knowing that chances were high I wouldn't wake up the next morning. It was – terrifying. I expected pain – and humiliation. But I only expected them for the time of the battle, or until I fell – died. But I didn't expect it to last so long afterwards."

He couldn't help himself, really, he couldn't. It was one of those things that he wished he could take back afterwards. Make it so it was unsaid. Turn back the time. But he couldn't. "I know exactly how you feel."

She merely looked at him and smiled sadly. "Will it go away?"

"I suppose so. Most things do."

xx

The mood was getting so thick – so maudlin – and she knew that she just had a glimpse of the real Severus Snape. The real person who thought about things, who regretted, who didn't want to think about the past. Who felt. Who knew how she felt. Who knew what it felt like to think in those moments – and think some more. And some more. And who over-thought everything. And by doing that, making it worse. And by that, getting himself into a spiral of thinking, and more thinking and falling deeper into the pit and not seeing, despite all the thinking, a single way out.

Someone, who understood that sometimes, the world could be very black – and that this was the darkest, meanest black one could ever imagine.

She never had those moments, really – sometimes, in her childhood because she had been desperate to know why she wasn't like the other children.

And now – she had them. Often.

But knowing that he felt the same way, feeling the same desperation, the hopelessness that it would never get better – to be in pain and desperation, it made her feel less alone.

She pulled her sleeves over her hands – to keep them warm – and to avoid letting him see that she crossed her fingers – wishing with all her heart that this closeness to him wouldn't go away – would last. That she really had found a friend in him.

Somehow, the fact that she hid her crossed fingers, hoping for his friendship from him, made her smile and she knew she had it in her hands (if she hadn't had her fingers crossed) to lighten the mood.

"You know," she said and quite daringly, leaned her head back against his shoulder. "It was good I gave you my promise not to say anything..." her voice trailed off.

"Yes?"

"Nobody would believe me anyway," she grinned up at him.

"That much seems certain," he replied dryly and, looked down.

Hermione's heart sped up – just for a second, maybe – but this was usually the case when she saw something she had never seen before. And this was one of those instances.

Severus Snape, after quickly looking down at her, looked up, into the distance and smiled.

Smiled.

Actually smiled. Not a smirk, not a sneer, it was a smile. Small, the corners of his mouth just turned upwards ever so slightly. But his eyes carried a shine – something she had not seen before. It was open, it was honest, it was true. And quite unlike anything she had ever seen before.

Her head had moved to his upper arm and she tilted her head up and, while smiling back, she could see him quite clearly. There were little wrinkles around his eyes when he smiled like this, the deep line in between his brows almost gone.

He looked quite human like this. Even though – well, her impression was that he hadn't smiled much. There weren't the usual tell-tale lines around his lips.

She sighed softly, looked in the same direction he was – and when she looked back up – the smile was gone.

"I think I should go to bed," Hermione said, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over them.

"Yes."

"Erm, sir?"

"Yes?" he asked almost impatiently.

"Do you think I could keep the blanket?" she asked quite shyly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes."

"Thank you, Professor," she smiled up at him – and, on impulse, took one of his hands – resting on his thighs, and squeezed it. "I mean it."

"Yes," he replied again and pulled his hand away. She thought it was a rebuff – first – but then he pulled a pocket-watch from his robes and clicked it open. He looked at it for a moment, flipped it shut and stood up.

Hermione was startled. This was – well – weird. But then, suddenly, he offered her his hand and she grinned, letting him help her up.

"Happy New Year, Miss Granger," he said when she stood in front of him.

"Happy New Year, Professor Snape," she replied, smiling. "And good night."

"Good night," he replied.

She felt his eyes following her as she left the courtyard and, with the blanket around her shoulders, walked up towards her bed – knowing that with a friend like Severus, the next year would be better. And certainly more interesting.

xx

He watched her leave – and was surprised by himself. He hadn't talked to anyone openly like this since – well. Everyone knew when. The moment he had lifted his wand and had spoken the two rotten words. But with her, it was easy. It seemed with her, there were many things that he could leave unsaid – and she still understood.

And having her head against his shoulder had been comforting – his arm around her soothing his nerves. Restful. Relaxing. Easy, almost. Even though Severus Snape couldn't recall a time when anything had been easy. This had been. Very. So very easy. Easier than it should have been.

But – he realised that now – she was almost like a friend. It wasn't as natural as it had been with Lily before all that. Of course not. He had been a child then. A mistreated child – abused – alone – lonely. And Lily the only one giving him any kind of attention. Apart from mum. But mum had been an empty shell even back then.

He sighed. No use dwelling on it. And yet, he knew that in Hermione he had a kind of ally. Someone who knew tragedy – who had thought about tragedy, the reasons behind it. Someone who knew the odd, strange places too many thoughts could lead one to. Someone, in short, who had seen war, and was trying desperately to grasp the entire concept behind it. And knew that she was failing.

He made a resolution, there and then. The first real resolution in years (other than to stay alive).

'I will help Hermione in any way I can without being too obvious,' he thought to himself and smirked. No, he would not be obvious but he would render assistance to her – in whichever way she needed it.

He didn't want her to go down the same paths he had walked.

He breathed deeply, knowing that he would be cold if he stayed outside longer.

"Happy New Year, Snape," he whispered to himself and with long strides, went down to his quarters.

_**xx**_


	35. Chapter 35

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

On January 3rd, the rest of the students arrived back at Hogwarts – some happily – some grumpily. Neither noticed during dinner that first night back that one of the Gryffindors threw almost longing glances up at the staff table – wishing she was up there next to a certain someone, wishing she could have a decent conversation about anything but the amount of Christmas presents she had gotten, or the wonderful things everyone had done during the break.

No, he, up there, didn't talk either. The headmistress sat alone (no Aberforth – but she knew they had wanted it that way – or Aberforth had wanted it that way and that the deputy head – Filius Flitwick, would make an announcement after the meal), next to her Severus and Flitwick, but she concentrated on her food and the ceiling alternately, and Severus, well, he sat and ate. And did nothing but. She knew he had often interrupted his meal – he had often placed his fork or spoon (depending on what it was) down and had, for a minute or so, concentrated on what she was saying, and on his answer. He wore then that certain look on his face – often mistaken as a scowl but she knew better now. A scowl was a scowl but the difference between a scowl and his concentrated face was the way his nose crinkled a tiny bit. Scowling – no crinkle. Concentrated – a tiny, little crinkle up at the arch of his nose.

Of course, seated between Demelza Robins and Honoria Kettlebrand, she couldn't see now whether he was scowling or concentrating and she couldn't very well step closer or do anything to see. Her gaze wandered up to the staff table again and this time, her eyes met his.

Hermione smiled – only a bit, only very little, and blinked slowly. To her joy – great, wonderful joy, he blinked back – not as slowly as she had but not as quick as one usual does.

She sighed silently and turned her attention back to her food, trying to block out the voices surrounding her – Ginny, loudly, telling everyone that she had spent her New Year's and Christmas with her eldest brother (poor Bill) and that her youngest brother was now happily on his honeymoon in Romania (probably at Charlie's place, since he had gone back there), Demelza and Honoria discussing quidditch practices in the snow, and loads and loads of other voices, talking about this and that.

Her thoughts went to Harry in that moment. He hadn't been able to decide whether or not go to the Weasleys for New Year's Eve – even though he had apparently known Ginny had stayed with Bill and Fleur (somehow, it seemed that Molly wasn't overly happy with her daughter – though the reasons remained unclear to Harry) and that Ron and his _wife_ (child-bride would have been a better word) had left for Romania already. He had been invited, yes, and he had been tempted to go – and then, at the last minute, basically, he had changed his mind and had spent the evening with his godson Teddy and his grandmother Andromeda.

The better choice, in Hermione's opinion. Not because she disliked the Weasleys – no – she had a soft spot in her heart for most of them (not counting the two youngest siblings) but Teddy was partly Harry's responsibility. And she knew he wanted to live up to it. He loved the little boy to pieces – and therefore, well, spending the last day of the year with him seemed natural.

And he had been happy, when she had gotten permission from the headmistress to go to the Hog's Head (incidentally, McGonagall-Dumbledore had gone with her) and he had told her all about the little one and what he was doing (and – incidentally, the headmistress had not accompanied her home. Instead, Hagrid had escorted her back up to the castle – probably on Minerva's orders. Who knew?)

Hermione herself had never been a child sort of person. She remembered going to Tesco or Sainburys or Marks & Spencer with her parents when she had been younger and home during break and it was always the children, screaming on the top of their lungs perching in their parents' trolleys. Or, even worse, one of those little monsters would smile at her. She never knew how to react to something like that.

So – Harry's long-winded account of Teddy's progress (yes, he was doing that now, and this, and oh, this was so adorable) had not really interested her. Though – well, she did pity the little one. Still, it was a child. Hell, even when she had been a child she didn't like other children much. Or more likely, she didn't understand children. Not as a youngster herself and much less now. No – children were a mystery. Full stop.

xx

The headmistress, _poor woman_, did not eat her mashed potatoes. She had built a little castle with it, complete with gravy-moat and little bits of meat swimming in said moat. She had, with a little magic apparently, added little turrets, tiny windows, and a rope bridge to the castle and was playing idly, with nervous, slightly trembling fingers with the pieces of meat (probably poor invaders who had not made it over the bridge) swimming in the gravy-moat.

Severus was – frankly speaking – highly amused. The level-headed, reasonable, never-to-be-shaken Gryffindor Minerva McGonagall was really nervous. And he wouldn't help her in this. It was nice seeing her like this for a change. Almost school-girly in her demeanour, or maybe more like a young girl who brings her first boyfriend home to meet her parents.

But of course he wasn't openly watching her – no. For anyone else, it would seem like he was completely scowling at his food (which was, heaven forbid, nothing to be scowled at – it was excellent) when all he did was try to hide his glee but when his eyes pulled away from the mashed-potato-castle and scanned over the hordes of misbehaved students, that glee almost turned into a full-blown smile. Almost, of course.

Hermione, sitting there between two of the most annoying Gryffindors (who were probably either talking about quidditch, or quidditch-playing boys, or make up to be worn after quidditch) and, as stealthily as she could, looking up at him. His eyes met hers and she did not hide her smile. It wasn't her usual smile when she, for instance, understood something he explained, or when she had returned from the Hog's Head on the first day of January and had told her that she had almost fainted when she had seen the headmistress kiss her husband. No, it was small – and he knew that it was almost certainly only for him.

But of course, Severus Snape would never smile. He couldn't, probably. Well – he had. Once, because of her. And in her presence, but he couldn't do it in front of those masses of dunderheaded students. They would probably have him admitted to St Mungo's within a heartbeat.

No – but when she slowly, lazily blinked – he blinked back. Just to let her know that she had seen it.

And this – almost made him smile again.

She had the quickest grasp on the concept of the books-in-book-hunting he had ever seen (except with himself) and, as a result, they had found many more resources for the paper she was writing about the potion at the moment. It was good – even though it was only her second draft. Or maybe the third, he wasn't sure. But it was good and he had to admit that he could have written it only slightly better – but that was merely due to the lack of experience she had.

Hence – he was still against her applying to universities. Not that they had discussed it. No, she hadn't even asked about the letter of recommendation again. Intuitively, she seemed to know that he was not someone to push. He needed to think about those things himself.

Quite rudely, he was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of something clinking against a glass and judging by the way Minerva knotted her hands together in her lap, he knew this was the moment.

He almost smirked again. But no, this would seem utterly unprofessional.

"I don't know why you worry so much," he leaned over and hissed, "it'll be all over the school by tonight's curfew anyway. All those Hufflepuffs that saw you together during New Year's Eve."

"You're not helping, Severus," she hissed back – but oddly enough, kept her smiling face.

"My dear students," Filius began, "it is with a happy heart that I announce the marriage of our dear headmistress to Aberforth Dumbledore. Please all raise your goblets and let us drink a toast to her and her husband," he simply said – and Severus knew that had been the best way.

No – really. There were 10 students in the Great Hall who were not gaping. Probably fifteen. And most of those had been present at the time – or were the best friends of those who had been. Nobody but those fifteen raised their goblet.

He scowled at the Slytherin table and slowly, a few more did – until, suddenly, from the Gryffindor table and the Ravenclaw table, a loud whooping and cheering could be heard and he knew that this could only be Hermione – and of course Luna Lovegood. He looked around and saw the two of them, clapping, shouting, cheering. The cheering began to get louder, more fell in, somewhere from the Gryffindor-table came a few cat-calls ('how fitting,' he thought) and he smirked proudly, raised his goblet (pumpkin juice again) and said a quiet "Congratulations again."

xx

She couldn't believe this was happening. The poor headmistress having all the students stunned into silence. No – this couldn't go on.

Her eyes fell on Luna – and she grinned – and nodded and, as one, they stood up together began to cheer and shout and clap and one after another, more students joined in. She breathed a sigh of relief. This would make her feel better.

And Severus? Severus smirked at her. Of course he would. And she could do nothing but smirk back.

That was it then, for the night. Slowly, dreadingly, she made her way up to the Tower, knowing that she had to share her dorm once more, the book-case Harry had given her carefully shrunk under her bed, her private things put away, some even locked away, the blanket she had basically nicked (well, she had asked – really) from Severus hidden underneath her bedspread. She had used this one every night that year already and honestly, she had no intention of giving it back. It was just too comfortable.

There were steps behind her and she knew that it was Ginny who had a very distinguished way of walking – or maybe it was just Hermione, who remembered how Ginny walked and a second later, her suspicions were confirmed when she heard her speak.

"The wedding was so beautiful, really, you should have seen it. Ron's so happy with Gabrielle. And she's nothing like her sister. I mean Fleur is nice, if you think about it but Gabrielle is much more open and less uppity. She's perfect together with Ron."

Hermione groaned inwardly. Of course this had to come.

"And she's really pregnant?" another voice said, a voice she recognised as Thaddea Ulnarius.

"Yes!" Ginny seemed excited, "three months along now."

Three months? Hermione calculated back in her head. It was January 3rd. October. The beginning of October. Nice. Yes. Barely separated. Not broken up, mind. Just separated and he was hopping into bed with that child-part-veela. Brilliant.

Hermione did nothing to slow or fasten her steps. No, she didn't care about what Ginevra said, she just walked, quietly up to her dorm. Nothing more.

"Three months?", Thaddea seemed to know about this also. "But..."

"Well," Ginny seemed hesitant, looking for the right words, "I guess it's the same as it is with quidditch. If one player's not good enough, you find a replacement."

Now – this was too much for Hermione. She spun around on her heel, anger gleaming in her eyes. Yes, she could deal with a lot of things – even the fact that he had probably cheated even before she had returned to Hogwarts, but once more, being insulted like this was enough.

"You dumb, lying cow," Hermione spat and took two steps towards the red-head. She whipped her wand out (well, she had really looked how Severus did it, storing it in his sleeve and had done it the same way. In her hand much quicker this way anyhow). She cast a silent petrificus on Ginny and pointed it at Thaddea. "Go," she hissed and the younger girl scuttled off immediately. "And if I hear one word of this conversation from someone else...," Hermione threatened after her, then turned back to Ginny.

"Listen to me, Weasley. I have put up with your bitching and scheming for long enough. I don't care who Ron shagged or is currently shagging. And for me not being good enough, I don't remember you being there – or you in any way, shape or form ever having sex with me. As such, you cannot judge. And I don't think your brother can either. Because, you know what? He isn't good, he isn't considerate and he isn't brilliant. And what's more, Weasley, I don't need to bed a part of the whoa – here it comes – _Golden Trio_ – because, well, I am part of it. I could make money by just telling my stories to the papers instead of having to tell them that I've had an affair with Ronald Weasley. Is that understood? If I hear you one more time talking like this about me, you will suffer far worse than this because little girl, I am capable of hurting you and I will if you continue this. It's not my fault that your brother cheated on me and it's not my fault that your boyfriend left you. The former was your brother's doing and the latter your own."

She shot a jinx in her direction and watched with fascination as in deep, lovely purple the word LIAR appeared on the red-head's forehead. The colour, well, it clashed horribly with her hair but that had been on purpose. "This will not go away until I want it to," she hissed, turned around and walked away. Someone was bound to find Weasley anyway. And if she had to serve detention, she would. And if she was expelled – oh well, so be it. She knew someone who would most certainly write a letter of recommendation.

xx

He was puzzled. Nobody ever really knocked on the door to his private lab – only few people knew where it was – and nobody really bothered him there. That could only mean one thing – one person. But she wouldn't, would she?

Severus got up and strode to the door, opening it only a bit. "Miss Granger?" he asked, seeing his suspicions confirmed. "You should be in your dormitory."

She shrugged in reply. "May I come in?"

He rolled his eyes but let her through. Why – he wasn't sure.

"I'm here to confess that I petrified Ginevra Weasley and jinxed a word on her forehead," she said proudly, leaning against his worktable.

"Pardon?" he asked, standing opposite her.

Hermione sighed tiredly. "She was talking about Ron and that his child-bride is three months pregnant," she began.

"Three months?" Severus asked despite himself.

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "Three months," she pulled a stool closer with her foot and sat down heavily before she put her arms on the surface of the table and her head on her arms. "Three months. That makes it October, I think. I'm not really familiar with the way they count those months but anyway, we were still together and the person she was telling this to pointed it out and she said...I mean," Hermione sighed again and buried her face deeper into the fabric of her sleeves, "I lost it. She was insulting me as I was walking not three feet away from her. Just in front of her and she was talking about me as if I wasn't there. And yes, I lost it, petrified and jinxed her. Her forehead will read liar for at least two months."

Severus merely arched his left eyebrow and summoned another stool. He sat down on the other side of the table. "I don't really know why you tell me this," he said softly.

"Well, McGonagall always was a fan of Ginny's, I think. Because Ginny's the perfect quidditch player and I thought that maybe, well, I know I'll have detention for it but if you said that...you know, you had already taken care of it – you know, then maybe, I mean I would be down here every night."

Severus smirked. "Ah – I see. Trying to find the easy way out."

"No," Hermione bolted up, "she deserves this. Telling me that Ron's cheated on me and effectively left me because I'm not a good shag? How can she judge this? I'm not into girls. And even if I were, Ginny would certainly be last on my list. She'd come just before the sheep but right after Abe's goats," she exploded. "How can she say it? And expect me to be quiet about it?"

Severus sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "And why are you telling me this?"

She looked at him and suddenly, the entire steam seemed to be off. 'A short one, thank Merlin,' he thought and watched her sit down.

"Because you listen. Because you don't judge for heaven's sake. Because, well, because lately, I've the feeling that you're on my side. You and Harry. And that's it. And you know why? Because I trust you."

He raised an eyebrow. The same arguments, over and over. Some day, his head and his gut would understand, he knew. And then, he wouldn't have to hear it quite so often. But until then, she was probably tired of saying it and wasn't talking to him any more.

"Liar? On her forehead?" he asked instead.

"Yes," Hermione sighed. "Liar, in purple letters on her forehead."

"You should teach me that jinx," he grinned. "Because I've only ever heard of things like this when you're breaking a contract."

Hermione smiled suddenly. "Well, basically, it's just a spot-hex but you can arrange the spots by adding a simple 'ordino' and the word and hue you want it to the incantation," she explained, her smile fully returned.

xx

She had written on her paper for a bit. And he had let her. It was, after all, better than to have to walk up to the courtyard and look for her. He knew, instinctively, that she would not go back to her dormitory until she was sure that everyone was asleep.

She had written, he had brewed and had only occasionally looked up to her – where she sat, bent over the parchment, her hair falling over it.

Whenever he brewed for himself, he lost track of the time and he knew she was no different once she was completely concentrating on a matter. So – he made it a point of checking his pocket-watch more often than usual – only, the crucial stage had distracted him – and once more, he had forgotten the time – and so, the next time, he checked, it was after one in the morning.

"Miss Granger?" he asked across the room, a little cross with her – because she had forgotten the time as well.

He received no answer. "Miss Granger?" he asked again and quietly, walked over to her.

She wasn't bent over the parchment any more – she had pushed it aside slightly and, her head on her arms once more, had fallen asleep. A strand of hair fell over her eyes, on her nose and, without being able to stop himself, he reached out – and brushed it back from her face. It was soft and yet so substantial. So thick. And his fingertips – he couldn't help himself, had brushed over the skin of her forehead ever so slightly. Wonderfully soft skin, no lines for once. Nothing. Just her, half sitting, half lying there. Deeply asleep.

Severus really couldn't help himself – he was a curious person and as such, he liked to observe things. And she was something that he didn't mind observing at all. Long lashes, a perfect nose, her lips slightly parted, her breathing so deep and even, her hair, not in her face any more but in curls over her shoulders, brown, almost mousy-brown in this light.

He reached out once more and his fingertips grazed over her cheek – but then, he realised what he was doing and, in panic, took a step back.

'No no no no no," he scolded himself inside his head. 'Do not touch her like this.'

His breathing was uneven and everything but deep.

"Miss Granger!" he spoke louder this time. "Get up!"

He took another step back, carefully. "Miss Granger!"

"Lemme sleep," she muttered and turned her head, resting it on her arms again.

This was a battle he clearly couldn't win. Muttering something about stupid, idiotic Gryffindors, falling asleep wherever they went, he transfigured an empty jar into a cot – and the lid into a blanket. Cautious not to get too close to her, not trusting himself not to touch something so pretty, so beautiful, he levitated her to the bed, and the blanket over her before he left his lab very, very quickly.

_**xx**_


	36. Chapter 36

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

"Dizzy," Severus called.

"Yes, Master Snape?" the elf appeared, ears flapping excitedly.

"I need you to go to my private lab in the morning and wake Miss Granger if she's still there," he ordered and turned to take his robes off.

"Miss Granger, Master Snape?"

"Yes," he snarked, "Miss Granger. I'm sure you know her."

"Hat-girl," the elf said, frightened.

"She will not give you clothes. I, however, will if you don't do as I say," he replied angrily. "Wake her precisely at 6.30 tomorrow in the morning. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," the elf bobbed his head.

"Very well, go."

He never really was that rude to elves – or quick with them but his own behaviour had startled him and in addition, he was tired and irritated.

It wasn't so much that he realised she was a student – she wasn't a student in his eyes any more anyway, too grown up to be counted as a regular student – and she knew so much more.

No, that wasn't what made him irritable. It was more that he couldn't stop rubbing his fingertips together, ran his thumb over them, looked at them in wonder. They looked the same still – there was nothing different. And yet, somehow, he felt that something had changed. Or somehow, there should. Like the letters (bold, no doubt) on the Weasley girl's forehead – but his fingers looked just the same, calloused, stained, the fingernails short but tidy. The stains, well, some of the ingredients would leave them – orange, sometimes, or, in case of the violet petals he had cut thin for the potion he had been brewing that night (a simple cough remedy) light blue. Still, there was no mark on his fingertips – and probably not even on Hermione's forehead.

But there should be. He had touched her and an innocent creature should bear a mark when being touched by someone tainted like him.

"Bullocks," he told himself sternly as he bent down to unlace his boots. 'I can't taint her with a touch. She hugged me. She sat with my arm around her for more than an hour,' he continued to think – uncomfortable with talking to himself.

Yet, he knew that he mustn't let her get too close. He was someone – he knew from experience – who destroyed friendships – who hurt people by being inconsiderate, or saying the wrong things – in short, by being a git. And he knew that he had the capacity to hurt her more than all the Weasleys had done.

'And I don't want that,' he thought, letting his shoulder slump on his way to his bedroom.

'Why not?' he asked himself, unbuttoning his frock coat and shirt.

'Because she trusts me. Because she tells me secrets. Because she's the first person here, after Minerva, who doesn't look at me suspiciously, who's not expecting to be killed at any given moment.'

'That's not true,' he argued with himself in his head, putting the shirt in a hamper and the frock coat on a hanger in his closet. 'Nobody believes to be killed instantly.'

'Everybody still thinks I've took pleasure out of doing it," he countered.

'She doesn't.'

'She doesn't,' he thought, sighed and took his trousers and socks off. 'But that's exactly why she mustn't be let closer.'

'You want her closer,' he told himself, slowing, with his head rolling to his neck to relieve some of the overstrained muscles, trudging to his bathroom.

'I am not sure,' he replied to himself. 'Yes and no.'

'You know she's a loyal friend.'

'Yes.'

'You know she will not betray you.'

'Maybe,' he put some toothpaste on his brush and vigorously, began to clean his teeth. Yes, people thought he didn't brush them at all. He did – twice a day, sometimes three times – but the amounts of tea and coffee and bad things inherited from his father – could not counter that.

'She will not betray you.'

'Maybe. Maybe not. She's young.'

'She's older than her years. She's mature. She's grown up.'

'I've seen that,' he groaned inwardly. 'She's not a girl any more.'

'Exactly my point.'

He washed his face and checked his appearance for a moment in the mirror. He looked completely normal. Had put on some much needed weight on Christmas, his skin was still pale but without the unhealthy yellow tinge. His nose was still prominent, his teeth still crooked. He was himself.

There was nothing on his face – no mark – no stigma for touching something he shouldn't have. At least not when she was sleeping.

Yes – this was it. Probably. Touching her while she didn't know about it. While she couldn't consent. She might have shrunk back.

He squinted at his reflection – raised an eyebrow and, barefoot, on tired feet, went to bed – and, on the way there, remembered his resolution. He knew what to do – and would just forget about ever touching her. A dream. Nothing more.

xx

She knew she should be mortified, embarrassed, and ashamed. She knew she should run around the school with a blush and downcast eyes all day long.

And yes, when the elf (who refused to talk to her – had merely shaken her awake) had woken her, she had been a little bit embarrassed. But then she noticed the cot she was sleeping on (very comfortable) and the blanket over her form (very warm and soft) and the embarrassment, almost magically, went away.

So, she had fallen asleep in a stupid place once more. And once more, he had taken care of the fact that she was safe and comfortable. And could continue to sleep. Really, he had also provided (probably – because house elves usually avoided her like she was death incarnate – or rather a hat or a sock incarnate) her with a wake-up call, to make sure that she wouldn't be late for classes. No, honestly, while she was a bit ashamed that she had gone to sleep over writing her paper, she wasn't about the fact where and in which company it had happened – even though...

Even though, well, what if she said things in her sleep? Her dorm-mates sometimes said she spoke in her dreams – and even in complete sentences. What if she had done the same?

As she made her way up to the tower to shower and to get changed, she considered that possibility. But her common sense told her – no. Out of a simple reason:

If she had blurted something in her sleep, she had no doubt that he would have shaken her awake and would have pointed it out. Or – he would have shaken her awake, would have smirked and told her something along the lines of, go and talk to someone else while you sleep.

He had done neither. No, he had transfigured her a bed and a blanket and had put her to bed.

'What a sweet thing to do,' she thought, a little smile on her face as she reached the Fat Lady.

"Password?"

"Tendo Achillis," she replied chipperly – and utterly rested. She had slept well down there. Really. If it had not been for the cover, she might have frozen but in her robes and socks (he had taken her shoes off but that had been all) and trousers and everything, she had been perfectly warm. Not that she wanted to know what she looked like – no mirror in his private lab – but it had been worth it.

And no, she wasn't ashamed.

"Been out?" Ginny Weasley sat in one of the armchairs in the common room and glared at her.

"None of your business, Weasley," Hermione was defensive right away.

The red-head raised her eyebrows and Hermione noticed only just now that she had arranged her hair very oddly – to fall over her forehead.

Okay, so she shouldn't have spelled the word there – to easy to conceal – but a little gust of wind would take care of that, too. Instead, Hermione grinned. "Couldn't sleep with that thing there on your forehead? Whatever happened to you?"

"I'll go to McGonagall," she hissed and, before Hermione could say another word, she had run off.

"Well, just go. McGonagall hates a grass," she spoke quietly – knowing she said the truth. Professor McGonagall did want to know the truth – but not like this. And well, Hermione had come clean. And maybe, just maybe, Severus would fix it for her.

xx

"Minerva, there's...ugh," Severus shut his eyes tightly. "Can you please tell the gargoyle not to let anyone up when you're doing this?"

The headmistress laughed and extracted herself from her husband's arms. "I could. But then I would have missed you saying 'ugh'. Besides, I was merely kissing my husband. Squeamish boy."

"Right," Aberforth couldn't hide his grin at Severus, who still did not dare to look. "In fact, it was just a kiss good-bye. Even you can't see any fault in that."

"I don't see any fault in that. I just don't want to _see_," he opened his eyes a crack.

"Alright then. I advice you to close your eyes again," Minerva spoke softly and turned to Aberforth again. "See you later?"

"Floo to the Hog's Head when you're done?" Aberforth asked and wrapped her in his arms again.

"I will," she whispered and kissed him softly on the mouth.

"I'll come back in half an hour then," Severus turned to go but was stopped.

"Stop that," Minerva smiled. "And stay. No, you Ab, you go, otherwise I won't get any work done," she added, almost purring.

"I did not need to know that," Severus complained and took a seat, far away from them, his eyes fixed on the portrait of headmaster Black, who was snoring with his mouth wide open.

"Can't wait till later, Erva," Aberforth spoke but Severus still could hear and considered for a moment to put his fingers into his ears. But then decided that this would probably be immature and childish and after all – those two were married. But the amount of soppiness radiating off of them was almost unbearable after all.

"Me neither," the otherwise so stern headmistress replied. "I love you, Ab."

"I love you, Erva."

"Oh Merlin," Severus muttered. "Are you quite done yet?" and almost instantly, the sound of the floo being used could be heard and he turned his eyes back to Minerva. "Well?"

"I should be saying that. It was you, after all, who came stomping in here."

"Can't you say good bye in your quarters? I'm sure you have rooms, and probably even a floo there," he snapped.

"No, I couldn't, because Albus hadn't known yet that we've gotten married and, well, we told him this morning."

"My, you must have been up early," he replied without missing a beat – and his eyes fell on the portrait of Albus Dumbledore. It was empty. "Shocked him into leaving then?"

Minerva chuckled. "Something like this," she paused, sat down in her chair and, turning to him, her expression turned a little more serious. "And what brought you here so early this morning?"

He breathed deeply. This would be difficult. "Miss Granger ran into me last night – after curfew, in the halls – and confessed to me that she had hexed Miss Weasley."

"What?" the headmistress blurted. "She told you that she did what to whom?"

"In the third floor corridor, just next to the portrait of Livingstone next to the giraffe, Miss Granger ran into me and told me that she had cast a modified spot-hex on Miss Weasley. More a jinx, the way I see it but that's beside the point anyhow."

"What kind of hex? Jinx? Whatever?" she asked, "And why would she tell you?"

He raised his hands in a gesture that clearly stated that he didn't know. "I was there and she probably wanted to get out of detention and the loss of points. And in her Gryffindor rashness, she forgot that I would dock points for what she had done and that she'll be serving detention with me for the rest of the month."

"It's the fourth, surely that's a bit harsh?"

"Not from what Miss Granger told me."

"What did she tell you?" Minerva got up and summoned a cup of coffee and a cup of tea – handing him the former.

"Apparently, Miss Weasley seems to know exactly how to provoke Miss Granger. And to quote her, she just lost it and jinxed Miss Weasley."

"What with? And what did she do to provoke Hermione?"

Severus sighed. "According to Miss Granger, it was about her break-up with Mister Weasley."

"Oh," Minerva nodded. "And?"

"And her forehead spells now liar, apparently, in purple letters."

"Excuse me?" the headmistress, who had just taken a sip of her tea had difficulty keeping it in.

"Yes. And as I said, Miss Granger has lost points for her house and will serve detention with me. A month of scrubbing cauldrons will teach her not to spell words on her fellow students' foreheads."

Minerva could not hide her grin any more. "Do you know what Miss Weasley said?"

"Not explicitly, no. But I think I have an idea."

"Share, please?"

"Miss Weasley blames Miss Granger's, erm, skills in certain areas for the less than exemplary conduct of Mister Weasley. Especially after she found out that the new Missus Weasley is already three months pregnant."

"Three months!" the headmistress exclaimed. "Poor Hermione."

The potions master arched an eyebrow. "Be that as it may, I believed I had to inform you about the fact that she has confessed last night and is already punished."

"Of course, of course. But a month detentions with you? And you will let her scrub cauldrons? After her brilliance with the Cruciatus-Potion?"

"We will not call it that. And yes, after that."

"We?" Minerva grinned. "I see," she nodded, then turned around. "There's someone outside wanting to be let in without knowing the password and using it. Do you mind?"

Well, yes, he had used the password – since all the teachers had it and he didn't fancy standing in front of the gargoyle for moments, waiting until Minerva had finished saying good bye.

He shook his head. "As long as it's not _Ab_ coming back for a snog," he muttered and received a glare from his superior who had heard him nonetheless. He nodded towards her and as she checked through a two-way mirror who wanted entrance, she cleared her throat.

"It's Miss Weasley," she stated clearly.

"Interesting," he drawled and flipping his wand from his sleeve, cast a disillusionment charm on himself.

"Severus, really," the headmistress scolded mildly, but did nothing about the invisible instructor and, with a flick of her wand, allowed the girl access to her office.

A moment later, the doors to her office swung open and Ginny Weasley – in all her glory – and hair in weird disarray over her forehead stepped in.

"Erm, Professor McGonagall," she said, in a timid, shy voice. "I, erm, was hit by a jinx."

Severus had to applaud this – it was perfect acting. Well, almost. An angry gleam was very present in her eyes, and determination could clearly be seen in her body language. Erect, proud, chin forcedly down, eyes up.

"What kind of hex, Miss Weasley?" the headmistress asked kindly – playing her role better.

"This!" the red-head sobbed and pushed her hair aside.

He tried, really. Honestly, really. And he had known right from the start that he would fail but it didn't stop him from trying. He smirked. Very broadly. It was a perfect jinx – perfectly made, and so hideous that, if he had been hit with it, he wouldn't have left his rooms until it wore off. Quickly, he cast a silencing spell over himself – just in case a chuckle, or, Merlin forbid, a laugh would escape his throat. Minerva McGonagall wasn't faring much better – he noted. She kept her straight face, yes, but her breathing was quicker than usual and her shoulders twitched a tiny bit.

"Who did this to you?" the headmistress asked and Snape knew this was the crucial question. Minerva did not like squealers. She detested them. Part of her Gryffindorishness, probably.

"Hermione," Ginny mumbled, clearly audible though, even for him.

"Miss Granger? Why would she do something like this?"

Miss Weasley shrugged. "She thinks I'm lying, apparently."

"What about?"

"My brother and his wife," she answered immediately. Well rehearsed – he had to give her that.

"I see. Well, thank you for telling me and I will see to Miss Granger's punishment," Minerva said simply and with a tiny movement of her wrist only, the doors opened again. "Now go and get breakfast."

"Couldn't you try to remove it?" Weasley asked again in that shy tone.

"No. But you might ask Madam Pomfrey for assistance. But you're not excused from lessons. You missed too many already this year," she added sternly and almost ushered her out. He knew the reason – usually, she would take a lot more time to get to the bottom of this – but she couldn't now. Her shoulders were close to shaking, the skin on her neck a little too pink and her eyes were dancing merrily.

"Yes, thank you, Professor McGonagall," Weasley said again and left, stomping on the spiral staircase, obviously angry that it had not quite gone according to her plan – whatever that had been.

"Cancel the spell, Severus," she managed to get out before a fit of giggles hit her.

He merely smirked – even after the spells were cancelled and spoke softly. "If you ever doubted that Hermione Granger was the brightest witch of her age, here's your proof."

xx

Potions – double period – first thing in the morning. She did not mind at all. On the contrary. She had been the first to be in the classroom (no sign of Severus) and shortly after her, Luna arrived, who immediately sat down next to her. They had chatted for a while until the rest of their class arrived – even Ginny, who wore her hair still over her forehead and in effect in her face. So, either she hadn't gone to McGonagall or nobody had been able to remove the jinx (more likely – she knew) – and yet, nervousness suddenly erupted within her. She had not seen Severus as her potions instructor for over two weeks now – but instead as a person who gave her almost private lessons, someone to go over her ideas with, a friend – not a person who taught her within a class.

And the man had seen her sleep. The man had brought her to bed, basically, and she had sat with his arm on her shoulder for well over an hour.

She gasped – causing Luna to ask if she was alright (to which she just nodded) – as he strode in, up to the front. He didn't even glance at her and her stomach dropped. Now she was mortified. She could have dealt with Severus the friend seeing her sleep but how would she managed seeing Snape the teacher knowing those things about her?

"Welcome back. You will have to work harder and more precise, otherwise every single one of you will fail Potions NEWTs. Is that clear?" he asked in his classroom-voice. A voice she hadn't really heard in the last weeks. No, even when he had lectured her about the books-in-book-mystery, his voice had another, softer, gentler quality to it.

This was different. This was the git of the dungeons. Not the person she could lean against.

Hermione sighed inwardly and tried to figure out how to solve this internal problem of hers, when she noticed him speaking, much harsher than before.

"And Miss Weasley, I'd like to see the horrified faces of my students when I talk, so please kindly remove that hair from your visage."

Hermione turned around, only a bit, since Ginny had taken a seat in the back of the classroom and she sat on her usual seat in front and, biting her lip, she saw a huffing, angry Weasley pushing her hair back. And a gasp from her fellow students when the word appeared – almost glowing.

"10 points off for that ridiculous hairstyle and another, I think 15 off for proclaiming to the world that you're a liar," he drawled. "It is not necessary to announce it quite so screamingly."

"But I – nothing can be done. Cannot be removed."

"Then you should have paid better attention to the beautifying charms you cast on yourself, shouldn't you?" he answered. "Fifteen off for insolence and talking back."

Hermione sighed inwardly once more. Had he just – defended her? Was he taking, more or less obviously, her side? Again?

She shot him a surprised look – and, for a fleeting second, saw a corner of his mouth twitch and his eyes glimmering.

Yes. Yes to all of her questions. Probably a distinction between Severus her friend and Snape her teacher wasn't necessary after all.

She shot him a little smile and decided that another thank you was in order.

_**xx**_


	37. Chapter 37

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**Dedicated to kelbell001!**_

_**xx**_

"Do you like him?" Luna asked, having abandoned her seat at the Ravenclaw table to be next to Hermione – and that was very nice of her, because, well, Ginny seemed to have more pull with the Gryffindors, star seeker, popular and known. Hermione, in contrast, was a remote figure. Someone who had achieved great things and was therefore to be admired from afar. She was better in most classes then them and she had done nothing so far to make new contacts – just because most of them seemed so – childish. True, she did know some of her classmates, most of them really – but could not connect. And would not, it seemed, after the incident with Ginny.

Hermione did not mind. She had time to study, time to write that paper for Severus, time to do the things she wanted to do. And nobody would really miss her if she spent the nights down in the dungeons.

But what bugged her was that everyone believed Ginny's version of the story which, in itself, was quite simple. Hermione had attacked her without reason.

She looked at Luna puzzled. "Do I like whom?"

"Professor Snape, of course," Luna smiled.

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why do you ask? What gave you the idea?" Hermione asked back, risking a glance up at the staff table, where, for the first time, Aberforth had taken the seat on Minerva's right. The three of them seemed to talk together, with the headmistress beaming, Aberforth smiling his proud smile and Severus scowling. Definitely a scowl.

"You seem better now. I mean better than before Christmas and I know you're writing a paper on the potion you helped him develop about the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse," she explained artlessly.

"How do you know that?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed.

"You were looking through it before History of Magic," the blonde continued and dug into her bread and butter pudding.

"Oh," Hermione exclaimed. "That makes sense."

"So, are you ready to answer my question?"

"What question?" Hermione asked, taking an apple from the table and cutting it into neat pieces on her plate.

"If you like him," Luna explained calmly.

"I don't know. I think he could be a friend," Hermione replied after a moment. "But I don't like him like him," she explained further.

Luna nodded. "I didn't ask if you're in love with him. Because I know you're not."

Hermione looked at her quizzically.

"I think you don't like love much at the moment. But you like Professor Snape."

Once more, a quizzical look.

"I think he can be quite nice. He's just so hurt and lonely and nobody believed him for such a long time. It would make anyone as cold as he acts towards other people. But he's not," Luna smiled and openly observed the staff table.

"No, he's not," Hermione answered softly, earning herself a beaming smile from one of the two friends she had now at Hogwarts.

xx

"So, we're thinking about a small affair down in the Hog's Head. Just a few people," Minerva explained.

"And she does mean small," Aberforth added, his hand, Severus could see now, safely in Minerva's (or the other way round) resting on her thigh. "10 people. Tops."

"Fifteen, Ab," Minerva beamed at her new husband. "Maybe 20."

Aberforth groaned. "Ten."

"If you insist on ten, I'll raise it to thirty," she replied eagerly, smirking quickly to her right, then turning to Severus. "And you _will_ be there."

The potions master rolled his eyes. "When is the happy occasion?"

"We thought Saturday," Aberforth explained. "And fifteen. At the most."

"Ab, just look. We want Severus here there. And Hermione. And I want to invite Poppy and Kingsley, Hagrid, plus my nieces Morna and Elspeth, as well as Molly and Arthur Weasley. Harry will be there, of course," at that, Severus sighed, "Rosmerta said she would close shop and she will bring along her niece, what was her name? The girl that's been helping out Harry?"

"Dorothy. He's sweet on her," Aberforth grinned.

"That makes it, only now, a total of twelve already," she replied triumphantly.

"Then leave it at the twelve," Aberforth shrugged.

"Don't people _elope_ to avoid parties?" Severus asked mockingly.

Aberforth grinned. "People do. We, didn't. We eloped..."

"Because it was quicker," Minerva answered in his stead, smiling at her love. "And because neither of us could wait."

"You're disgusting," Severus muttered and got up. "And don't count on the fact that I'll be there."

"You will be there, Severus," Minerva replied sternly. "And where do you think you're going?"

"Miss Granger's detention. Speaking of which, why do you invite her?" he asked suspiciously.

"Why shouldn't we?" Aberforth asked, "she was there when I proposed."

"And she needs to get out of this castle once in a while. Besides, Harry will be there as well," Minerva argued. "And you will be there as well."

"Alright, alright," he grumbled. "May I be excused to oversee her detention now?"

"Only if you tell her that she'll be invited," Minerva smiled. "We will tell her ourselves but we won't issue written invitations."

"Too formal," Aberforth grinned. "And since there will only be twelve guests..."

"I forgot about..."

"And that's my cue," Severus muttered and took off before he had to listen to one more marital disagreement about how many guests to invite to their party. A party – just what he needed. With a lot of people he didn't long to see. And still – he had to give it to Minerva and Aberforth. The names they had discussed – those were the few people who had been on his side – who trusted him again – or at least were on their way to doing it again. Kingsley had spoken up for him, the Weasleys, well, Arthur at that, was an understanding kind of person, and both of them trusted Harry and his opinion. Poppy had patched him up again after the snakebite, dressed his wound after Minerva had found him in a coma (that he had induced himself) in the Shrieking Shack. Hagrid never really harmed anyone, not even him, Rosmerta was a nice woman but he hadn't seen her in a while – he never went to the Three Broomsticks any more.

He remembered Minerva's niece Morna who had been two years below him during school. Gryffindor, of course but other than that, he didn't know much about her or even knew Elspeth.

And Potter – oh well. If he was sweet on a girl, he would probably not annoy him. Or even talk to him.

Besides – Hermione. She would be there. He grinned inwardly as he remembered the little note she had stuck (invisible to anyone but him – that woman had her charms down perfectly) to her vial of her bruise-vanishing-solution. It just said 'thanks for this'. He had put it to the first note, that was probably supposed to go with his Christmas present, and kept both in a drawer on his bedside table. Two written thank yous.

And he knew he slowly got used to it – to her saying it, writing it and to be honest, he was looking forward to their _detentions_. He found another potion in the book she had given him and was waiting to testing it – it wasn't much – nothing extraordinary – but hopefully, if it worked the way it should, it would be a nice alternative to pepper-up potion, without the steaming of the ears. And, once more, she should be right there with him.

With her calming presence, her interest in the subject and her ability to know exactly which step was the next and being ready with whatever needed to be ready then.

She must have seen him leave the Great Hall as two minutes after he arrived at his private lab, there was a knock on the door and after he lowered his wards, she stepped in, smiling.

"Hello," she said softly.

"Miss Granger," he greeted back.

"I'm officially ostracised again," she stated.

"What?"

"Ginny convinced the Gryffindors that I'm the loony and just hexed her for nothing," she shrugged. "I suppose it had to be that way. Everything's a circle, right? So I'm finishing the circle. I was a social oddball, not accepted and not liked during the first time here and it ends this way as well," she sighed and let herself fall on a stool – only just making it and not falling flat on the floor.

Severus arched an eyebrow and took a seat as well. "And the points you took – really, they thought they should have been taken from me. I don't know. Once I get really angry and it makes me an outcast."

"Do you really care?"

Her eyes moved upwards to look at him quickly and she frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You never particularly cared for the opinion of your fellow students," he stated, busying himself with putting the ingredients he needed for the cold-concoction in order.

"No, of course I didn't. If I had, I'd...it's just that for once, I thought people liked me, people didn't just see the know-it-all. Your phrase," she quipped. "But now, I'm not only the walking encyclopedia of all things muggle and wizard, but also the girl who whips her wand out for everything and spells letters on people's foreheads. Brilliant."

She shook her head slowly, then got up. "I'm sorry I'm always dumping this stuff on you."

He looked at her, then pointed at the set up cauldron. "If you're done, we can try out this potion, I believe."

"This is my detention?" she asked, her smile appearing on her face again.

"Do you want to scrub cauldrons?" he asked – almost sneeringly.

"No," she laughed. "I'd much rather brew."

"Thought so."

"So, what is it?" she asked, standing on tiptoes and peeking over his shoulder. He knew it wasn't really necessary to be this close to him – or behind him. She could as well stand next to him – without touching, but suddenly, her little hand was warm on his shoulder and her cheek hovering closely to his ear. He felt something inside. Not sure what it was – a small, very weird feeling in his stomach.

But maybe it was just the amount of curry he had eaten for dinner. Yes, that was it. Her presence behind him, standing close, breathing almost literally down his neck (though technically, she was breathing down his cheek), had nothing to do with it. And the fact that her hand was still on his shoulder and that she had now even began to speak.

"Some kind of cold remedy?" she asked softly, and he thought he could feel her voice vibrating on his back, even though, just a small portion of her body (which? He didn't know and he didn't want to look over his shoulder – he would probably crash his head against hers – or be close, or, probably, he wouldn't see anything anyway.)

"Yes," he replied and wasn't sure how to tell her, without hurting her even more than she had been hurt today, to remove her person. That he wasn't really comfortable with physical contact – though – well, he had to admit that he had liked both hugs. More than he actually wanted to admit to himself. But a woman in his arms – well, that was something he hadn't had for a long time – a long, long, long time and the last one – better not think about her. Too late. Rexana Lestrange. And that had been – oh Merlin – back in 1980. Before he had turned his back on the Dark Lord. Before he vanished. When he had been young. And Rexana – not as brutal as her brothers Rabastan and Rodolphus – not beautiful but there to take his mind off the sting that was Lily's marriage. It hadn't, of course and he had made her leave him sooner rather than later.

After that – if he needed it physically, there was always a willing body to be found somewhere. But he hadn't held a woman, hadn't hugged a female since Rexana. And not even her much. He had never felt the urge.

Now – he did.

And that revelation to himself startled him beyond belief and he stepped aside. Just stepped aside and since she didn't expect his movement, her hand dropped and yet, she just kept on talking about the properties of the herbs on the table, moving closer to take a better look.

xx

Maybe she had been too forward in touching him like this – but it was just what came naturally. She had always touched Ron and Harry – still touched Harry for that matter, issued hugs, gave kisses on cheeks, leaned on him.

And well, he hadn't stepped away immediately. Maybe, he just wanted to make more room for her and it had been rather uncomfortable standing on her tiptoes to see the table decently. Because, well, she was still standing quite close, her elbow still was against his and her upper arm, from time to time, brushing against his as she read his recipe.

"I can't believe none of these things have been made for such a long time. I mean you could make a lot of money with those recipes," she gushed.

"The original book was lost, Miss Granger. I told you," he replied calmly.

"I know but there had to have been other muggle copies and people must have figured it out how to change it," she argued.

"No. There were tries but I cannot guarantee this will work," he remarked, pointing at the book lying openly next to his changed recipe. "Look."

She peered down, her elbows on the table. "I see. You put coltsfoot in. But that's a cough suppressant. And the althaea is an expectorant. If the dosage is not correct, this could induce suffocation," she looked up. "But why..."

"Think, Miss Granger."

"If the dosage is correct, the amount of the two herbs correct in the potion, it could solve the cough immediately, and the althaea would cure a sore throat as well. That added to basically a fever-reducing potion, you'd have the perfect cold remedy."

"Yes, if the dosage is correct," he countered.

She pulled a piece of parchment underneath the one where he had scribbled the recipe and a pen from the back of her head – where it had held up her curls messily. Of course the hair tumbled down but she would put it back up later. "Let's see," she mumbled and began a complicated arithmantic calculation.

xx

She repeated the exact same calculation he had done earlier – and hopefully, she would get the same result. He hadn't been sure it was right but he knew she was better at Arithmancy than he was – and if she did the same – he must have been right.

And yet, the moment she had taken the pen (a muggle pen) from her hair and it had been tumbling down her back, he was startled for a moment. It was still bushy, still full, still thick, and he remembered – clear as anything – how it had felt under his fingers. She smelled a little differently than she had that night. A little more flowery tonight – less citrussy. More of roses, less than limes and he noticed for the first time that there was actually less wildness about her hair than he had thought. It was just curls. A lot of curls, one next to the other – but she had obviously run a brush through her hair – and he knew from his grandmother that that made the hair bushy.

"I get the same result," she said suddenly and shifted up – and he knew he had been staring at her hair longer than he had meant to – so long that she had filled the entire page with numbers.

"I think it should be fine, sir," she stated and handed him the parchment.

"Yes, that was what I thought," he replied brusquely.

"So? Shall we start?" she asked, smiling at him in her typically open way. He knew he was getting close to her again – but there was nothing wrong in her being here and there was nothing wrong in her being a friend. He was free of any masters he might have had – he was free to make friends if anyone was gracious enough to grant him their friendship. And she seemed adamant. Or at least willing. Willing to work with him, abide by his rules, stayed quiet when he needed it and confirmed his calculations without making a big fuss.

No really, usually he would have been angry about someone thinking he had made a mistake – but since he wasn't sure himself, since he had pointed it out himself, and since she merely leaned down and quietly did the Arithmancy, he didn't mind. And that again, was puzzling.

"I forgot to tell you, the headmistress and her husband are giving a small after-wedding reception on Saturday," he remembered suddenly.

"That's nice," she lit the fire with her wand.

"And you're invited. They wanted me to tell you," he added.

"Oh. Erm, thank you. I'd love to go but – why do they want me there?" she asked puzzled.

"Why not?" he asked. "The headmistress, not matter what you might think, thinks of you as her star pupil."

"Really?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"And you were there during the proposal."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I see. I'm not really a party-person."

"Neither am I but she will force me to go. Besides, you will have the chance to see Potter," he smirked. "And the girl he's apparently _sweet_ on."

"Harry? Harry is in love again?" she asked, shocked.

"I'm merely quoting, Miss Granger," he retreated. Too informal. Too, too, informal. Retreat. Fast. "They said they'd invite you personally. Now, if you don't do any serious work here, you'll scrub those cauldrons."

xx

Her hands brushed against his twice – or maybe his hand against hers – Severus wasn't sure. He was in bed, staring up at the low ceiling he had in his bedroom in the dungeons and pulled his feather bed further up. The light was out, and he was tired but sleep wasn't coming. He usually tried clearing his mind, and that helped him sleep but not tonight. He was confused.

She confused him.

The way she had stirred the solution wasn't. The way she had told him a little more about her relations to the girls in her year ('bimbos, the lot,' she had said), the way she asked what was appropriate to give Aberforth and Minerva.

She had almost hugged him good bye. Granted, it was only a pet on the arm but the way he saw it, she had wanted to embrace him, the way she held her arms out, the way her left fell when he looked blankly at her and the way she smiled, the way she said thank you again, the way she said see you tomorrow – all very confusing.

But most confusing of all – he wouldn't have minded a hug from her.

And no, he wasn't out of his mind. He had just noticed that a little physical contact wouldn't kill him. Despite the fact that she was his student, despite the fact that she was a woman. It was just friendly. It was just what friends did. He had seen her hug Potter – or Weasley – a lot of times. And no, there had been no mark on her forehead. Of course not. He had not tainted her. Had not. And if he kept up the contact the way they had it now – the occasional touch, accidental or not – the relatively easy conversation, they'd both be fine.

He would probably hurt her – but she could take it. She would come back. She had before.

And he – at the moment she respected him too much to ask anything personal, to talk about anything that concerned his personal life – and he intended to keep it that way.

He sat up in his bed – and lit his wand. The thank yous were going round and round his head – and he took the two notes from the drawer, reading the words over and over and he knew there was one thing he could do in order to repay her a little.

He got up, wearing nothing but nightclothes and, lighting a fire in his sitting room, he pulled a new roll of parchment from his stack and even though he had every intention of making her stay – or study under someone – he began to write the letter of recommendation.

_**xx**_


	38. Chapter 38

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**Thanks to tatjana88 for helping!**_

_**xx**_

She truly missed sitting next to him during meals. Instead of interesting conversations, she had now only her food to concentrate on – and toast and marmalade was not the most riveting thing she had ever seen – nor was porridge.

And since Harry had apparently a new interest in his life, and the Gryffindors mostly ignored her (and went out of her way for fear of being hexed), and nobody else usually wrote, and Luna had breakfast later than she had, she was left staring at whatever dish she chose to eat and the paper to read. Not that there was anything interesting in it – and she was glad for it. The wizarding world had its much needed rest now – restoring homes, rebuilding, living.

She was, however, terribly excited that morning when Hermes swooped down, a roll of parchment, very official looking, tied to his short leg. In fact, the roll was larger than himself and it made Hermione smile as she untied the scroll.

Unrolling it slowly, she frowned. The handwriting – Severus's. She was startled at first at why he would write to her like this, so formally, but as she read it through – her heart raced, she blushed and felt faint.

_To whom it may concern,_

_this letter is to serve as my formal recommendation for Miss Hermione Jean Granger. She studied in my classroom for close to eight years, during which time her growth and development could be witnessed. This development came not only in the area of potions and potion development but, but in maturity and character as well. _

_During her time at Hogwarts, Miss Hermione Jean Granger has consistently demonstrated a strong work ethic and a dedication to success. Her efforts have produced high quality results time and time again. This year, Miss Hermione Jean Granger assisted me in developing a Potion which will diminish the after-effects of an extensive exposure to the Cruciatus Curse, as well as developing a Cold-Concoction. Both developments required a great deal of though and effort, as well as Arithmantic skills to Miss Hermione Jean Granger's behalf. _

_Miss Hermione Jean Granger has outstanding organizational skills. She is able to successfully complete multiple tasks with favourable results in the minimum of required time and shows great enthusiasm in every project she takes on. Apart from that, she demonstrates genuine intellectual curiosity and excitement for an idea or a new theory, whether it be in the area of Potions, Transfiguration, Charms or Arithmancy._

_Furthermore, while Miss Hermione Jean Granger has often been lauded publicly for her part in the defeat of the dark wizard who must not be named, many overlook how hard she works to achieve any goals she sets for herself, whether it be the development of potions or the support she decides to lend those in need of it. _

_Miss Hermione Jean Granger is a motivated young woman of numerous talents and considerable self discipline and for those reasons, I highly recommend Miss Hermione Jean Granger as an ideal candidate for matriculation at your esteemed university._

_Sincerely, _

_Severus Snape, M.A.P._

She stared at the parchment in disbelief. Yes, it was his handwriting, and, in his hand, high praise. Very high praise. Nothing she hadn't heard before from others, but seeing it on parchment – that was a whole other matter. Her eyes flew up to staff table. He wasn't there.

"There," she said to Hermes, feeding him a bit of toast and dashing off. This required a personal thank you.

xx

He knew he had overdone it with the letter of recommendation. Had laid it on thick but he knew he needed to do this – those damn establishments wanted to hear it, wanted to read it, more precisely and if she truly wanted to get into one of those bloody WU's, this letter, even if it came to him, would help her. True, he was almost persona non grata for most of the Wizarding World but the community of Potions Masters knew that he had always taken this seriously and that he was one of the best brewers in the country – even if nobody trusted him to brew for them. Still – he now thought it had been a mistake to write this letter like this. As if it would make it easier for her to get in – she would have any problems to begin with – not with her history.

So maybe this letter would actually hinder her chances. He, the evil Death Eater writing a favourable letter for anyone? That couldn't go down well. He smirked. Oh well – he would make inquiries with his colleagues – and would make her an offer to stay. Taught by him, Filius, Minerva – that beat any university.

'And why do you want her to stay?' the treacherous voice in his head sounded loudly.

'Oh shut up,' he thought back and concentrated on magically writing the recipe for his second years on the board. He occluded the question why he wanted her to stay. It made no sense to think about it – an answer would not be good anyhow.

He stood with his back to the door and prepared his lesson, when suddenly said door to his classroom burst open and he spun around, wand poised.

"Professor Snape!" It was Hermione. Of course it was Hermione. He had known she would probably rush down after this letter – test for an Imperius Curse. Or any mind-altering potion. Anything. But the look on her face was – disconcerting.

"Miss Granger darkening my d...," he tried to sneer and failed miserably. He couldn't even finish his sentence when, quite suddenly, he had the witch in his arms again. How come she always launched herself at him like this? Almost knocking him over, almost knocking the wind out of him? Her arms around him – why? Her face buried in his robes, and her back was moving almost uncontrollably. Was she crying?

And why was there the stirring in his stomach again – he hadn't had any curry that morning. And the curry from last night – it couldn't be.

Before he could react, push her away, she had pulled back and stared at his face. He was puzzled and noticed a split second too late that he had let the neutral, impassive mask slip for just that amount of time. And she looked at him – scared? Embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, "it's just that that letter – I'd never expected it."

"It is what is expected by those institutions," he remarked coldly. "Not need to launch yourself at me."

"I'm sorry, Professor," she said softly again. "I didn't mean it, it's just..."

"Obviously," he tried to sneer – and felt that he failed miserably. However, judging from the expression on her face – he hadn't. She looked hurt. And yes, that wasn't bad at all. Not bad at all. If the curry couldn't take the blame, it must have been something else – and that could only mean one thing – he began to like her. And he began to be willing to let her close. And that was not good. Not good at all.

"I suggest," he continued, coldly, "that you go to your classes."

"Yes, Professor Snape," she replied, softly, and apparently, hurt, and mortified.

"And detention is cancelled," he drawled, turning away from her.

"Yes, sir," he heard her before the door to his classroom closed quietly.

He turned around slowly – she had left. Of course she had. Silly Gryffindor – acting, then thinking.

There was one thing he had not considered when he had decided that he would accept her as a friend – he would eventually grow to like the damn woman. And he couldn't let that happen – no, it was alright if she liked him – but for him to like her – just not acceptable. It would entail so many things – watching his back, being vulnerable, even if he didn't open up to her, letting himself like the girl would only bring bad things. No – he couldn't let that happen.

And in order to achieve this, he only had one choice – ignore her – distance himself. Be mean to her in class. He had let the entire thing go too far.

Seriously, what was the woman thinking? Throwing herself into his arms like that – out of the blue. No, that was crossing a distinct line. A very distinct line. He was still her teacher, for Merlin's sake, and she was still a girl and he couldn't let that happen. He should have never let it happen in the first place.

No, he should have never let her close. She was too dangerous for him. Liking a girl – no. He had never particularly liked a student but then again...

'You don't think of her as a student,' the annoying voice in his head argued.

'I do now.'

'No, you don't. She's been Hermione for weeks, you sat down and soberly wrote that soppy letter, even meaning what you wrote and just because you can't let anyone near, you push her away.'

'It's for the best.'

'Definitely. So you show every single person that you're not human and don't have feelings but an ice-block as a heart,' the voice sneered.

'I do,' he replied and, with a silent, hissed, 'shut up now,' as the first students arrived, he silenced the annoying voice.

xx

She had reacted too quickly, too openly, too bashfully, too much like the damn Gryffindor she was. There was nothing she could do to help it now – she couldn't turn back the time, couldn't go back in time in order to fix it. No time-turners allowed for anyone any more. She had crossed a bloody line and he had, naturally pushed her away. What was she expecting?

That he hugged her back? Envelop her in his arms, tell her that he meant what he had written and that she was brilliant, that she could achieve whatever she wanted to?

And worst of it was that she had wanted to ask him – tonight – if he'd be willing to go to her parents with her – to clear the air with them, and have someone who knew about it, confirm, that they had been in danger. That she hadn't decided to send them away on a whim. Well, she wouldn't.

Severus the friend did apparently not exist any more. Just because she had messed it up spectacularly. One step too far.

If she had only kept her distance, would have not hugged him, but had instead maybe shaken his hand or something – that would have been alright, wouldn't it? She ran up to Gryffindor Tower – she didn't want to listen to Binns drone on and on and nobody would miss her anyway.

xx

On Thursday, Minerva had found her to tell her about the party – and Hermione had said neither yes or no. She had said maybe.

And that maybe had turned into a I have to when Harry had owled her on Thursday and had told her that he needed her there. And that he wanted to introduce her to Dotty. And of course she was curious about the mysterious Dotty and then decided to go.

On Friday morning, the yes had turned into a no when she had inspected her closet. On Friday afternoon, she had pulled out a pair of dress-robes in dark blue and had decided that she didn't want to impress anyone. That nobody was there worth impressing. That she hadn't gotten over Ron yet anyway. Or maybe she had, but that she was over love and over impressing people and that looks were overrated anyway.

On Saturday morning, she put sleek-eazy into her hair anyway and didn't brush the curls out – surprised by the outcome – soft, gentle waves, framing her face.

And, together with Hagrid, who had promised to escort her – she made her way down to Hogsmeade. The way it was supposed to be – in a carriage.

She missed Severus. She disliked that she did – but there she was. She missed that she couldn't turn to him – missed the brewing. She would have even scrubbed cauldrons just to be in his presence. But no – no. He had sent her Mercury – his owl – and had cancelled the rest of the detentions. Without any reasons.

She heard Hagrid talking next to her – but she didn't listen. She knew he was probably just babbling and she was in no mood to talk. She would go there, say hello to Harry, let him show her his new whatever-she-was and then she would discreetly disappear through the floo (which she had secretly opened in the Gryffindor common room – just after warding it against any other use than hers – and anyone doubted she, well-known Mudblood was the brightest witch of her age?), back to Hogwarts. And tomorrow, if it worked, she would get the floo done again – and would try and see her parents. It needed to be done. Needed to be fixed.

And with Severus apparently out of her life again – because she had messed it up – because she had crossed a line – and she didn't know how to tell him that she was extremely sorry – that she knew what she had done wrong – and that she wanted to fix it. And how could she? He would just push her away again. And she didn't really want that. Couldn't bear it, probably.

Oh well – she didn't think he'd be there anyway – so she might as well try and make the best of the half hour she intended to stay.

xx

Severus wouldn't have gone to the party – if Minerva hadn't dragged him. Literally shoved him into the floo Saturday night. He had to admit that he had never seen her happier and more dressed up – her hair not in the usual bun but carefully put up, with curls on the back of her head, dressed in her clan-robes, tartan pinned to her shoulder. And in that outfit, she had pushed him into his fireplace and had thrown the floo powder in.

Anyone who remotely knows Severus Snape knows that it is not wise to push/shove him anywhere – and everyone who had ever tried it, knows best how to deal with him in the aftermath – namely – not deal with him at all. Minerva followed shortly after and his glare was met by a grin and she had Aberforth shove a cup of tea in his hand and then had pushed him into a chair.

Which, in hindsight, wasn't quite as bad since he could observe the entire room from where he was sitting.

Hermione was there. And the rest of the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him – were shoved back, and he had probably never been happier that he had mastered the art of Occlumency perfectly (well, that was a lie – this was not about life and death after all). And she chatted happily, or not quite so happily with Harry and the Weasleys and a girl he didn't know.

Nobody, nobody paid any attention to him, at least not yet and it was fine by him. Really. It gave him the opportunity to observe – quietly. Minerva and Aberforth were dancing slowly – they seemed so happy, so very happy. Disgustingly, vomit-inducingly happy.

He turned away, and for a moment, a short moment, his eyes locked with Hermione's.

xx

"Hermione, this is Dotty," Harry smiled proudly, holding the hand of a girl, a bit younger than she was.

"Hi," she beamed at Hermione. "Dorothy, really."

"Hi. Hermione, really," she smiled. "You didn't go to Hogwarts, did you?"

The girl shook her head, laughing and turning to Harry. "See, I knew this would be the first question anyone would ask."

"I owe you three then," Harry grumbled good-naturedly.

"But to answer your question, Hermione, no, I didn't go to Hogwarts or any other magical school. I'm a squib," she announced proudly.

"Good for you," Hermione smiled back. "And how did you two meet?"

"Hermione!" suddenly, there was this voice, then two familiar arms around her and she was buried in colourful robes – belonging to Missus Weasley.

"Hello," she tried to say but her face was squashed flatly against Molly Weasley's bosom.

"Molly, let her go. You're suffocating the poor girl," the gentle voice of Arthur Weasley sounded and the tight grip on her was loosened a little (only a little, mind) and she could finally see the Weasley matriarch.

"Hello," she repeated and turned her head to greet Arthur Weasley the same way.

"How are you, Hermione? You look so thin," Molly gushed.

"Erm, no, I actually gained some weight, Missus Weasley. The Hogwarts food is quite good," she replied and tried, unsuccessfully, to wriggle out of her arms.

She shot Harry a look – hoping he would get the hint. And it seemed he did. "Erm, Molly, I don't think you've meet Dorothy Rothaus yet," he interfered and immediately, Molly reacted and let go off Hermione.

"Who? No, I don't think I know you," the red-head said.

Hermione breathed a silent sigh of relief and stepped a bit away, suddenly feeling a gentle hand on her shoulder. She turned once more and looked into the sadly smiling face of Arthur Weasley.

"Are you alright?" he just asked and when she nodded, he nodded back, letting go off her shoulder.

"Excuse me, erm, I should...," she stammered and turned away, in the direction of the loo, knowing she needed a moment.

No, she hadn't expected something like this. She most certainly hadn't. The Weasley parents, apparently, did really like her – not because of the friendship and whatever it had been afterwards but because of her. Herself. There was no bad blood because of Ron and her.

Yet, Hermione wasn't sure what she felt about this. They should side with their son. They should believe Ginny, who had, she would swear on it, had written home about the jinx. Ginny was that way, apparently. Not that she knew. Not that she knew any of that family any more.

No, seriously, after those ridiculous articles by that Skeeter woman, Molly had hated her. And now, now she didn't?

Very, very confusing.

xx

"He's unhappy, isn't he?" Aberforth asked, slightly nodding towards Severus.

"Of course he is. According to Stero, who has it from Dizzy, he hasn't left his private lab this week. He even slept there and Hermione wasn't once down there," Minerva swayed gently to the music and her face was kind, loving. He knew he could stare in her face every single minute of every single hour of every single day of every single week and he would never tire of it.

"And?"

"And what, Ab?" she asked gently.

"Will my Erva do something about it?" he smiled and his hand wandered lower on her back.

"Like what?"

"A blind man can see that he likes the girl. Maybe he's even in love with her. He's just too dumb to notice."

"Really?" Minerva asked. "I knew he liked him but love?"

"Look at him," he swirled her around and he could read in her face that she saw what he had just seen. Severus, lost in thought, staring at her, observing her, his eyes alive.

"Oh Merlin," Minerva gasped. "Bring Molly and Arthur to dance. And Harry and, what's-her-name. Please?"

"Anything for you, Erva," he whispered.

xx

She had left towards the toilets – and had come back, a little pale, five minutes later. Five minutes. A long time to be in there but didn't women always go to the loo when they didn't feel well – emotionally? Or maybe Molly Weasley had broken a rib in that hug from hell. Who could say?

No, thoughts pushed back. Behind high walls. The very back of his head.

"Severus?" Minerva suddenly sat next to him and spoke softly.

"Yes?"

She bent over slightly and whispered in his ear. "I'll cheer for Slytherin – openly – during the next two games if you dance with Hermione Granger."

He arched his eyebrows, sure that his mask was in place and stood up with a huff. "Only you could have an idea like this," he hissed.

_**xx**_

_**Sorry, I had to. Thank you so much for your reviews! I'm touched by every single one of them! Please keep on doing it!  
**_

_**Personal A/N: So, you convinced me. I will go to the bloody interview tomorrow. Not that I'm comfortable with it and I still want to be a chicken, but I'll do it. I'll let you know how it went in case you're interested. **_

_**Thank you very much for encouraging me and writing reviews – PMs and emails! Thank you!**_


	39. Chapter 39

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**Thanks again to Tatjana88!**_

_**xx**_

"Erm, Harry?" Hermione pulled her friend slightly away from the Weasleys and his apparently new girlfriend.

"Hermione?" he asked, obviously worried about her. "What's wrong?"

"I'm not feeling well," she tried to smile. "Do you think I could use the floo?"

"Sure," he nodded immediately. "Are you feeling sick? You look pale."

She shook her head. "Just something I ate, I think. I'm a little queasy but that's alright. A good night's sleep should do the trick."

"Oh no, are you sure you can travel by floo then?" he asked, real worry now etched into his features.

Once more, she nodded. "I should be fine and I can use the fireplace in the common room so it's not far to my bed."

"I could bring you up," he offered. "If you're not feeling too well, I don't think it's wise to let you go alone."

"Harry, I'm alright, really. Just a bit of a stomach ache, a little headache. I've travelled by floo under worse conditions," she smiled weakly. "It's just..."

"It's not a stomach ache," he observed and pulled her farther away. "It's them, isn't it?", he jerked his head a little in the direction of where Arthur and Molly Weasley were interviewing Dotty.

Her face fell for a second and she shrugged. "Yes," she whispered. "I didn't expect it."

He nodded slowly. "I was shocked for a moment as well when Arthur came here and told me that, despite everything that happened with Ginny, they still consider me a part of their family. I was – I don't know – touched, I guess. But when you hear it at first, it is overwhelming."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded. "It's just that I, Harry, really, there are so many things happening lately and I don't know how to deal with them," she said softly.

"What else is happening? Except the Weasleys?" he asked, holding her hand. "Is Ginny giving you a hard time?"

"You heard about her forehead?"

"I saw her visiting the hairdresser this morning and there was a gust of wind and I know how you tried to change the spot-hex," he smirked.

She smiled a little brighter, "She hasn't bothered me since," she whispered. "But before..."

"Never provoke Hermione Granger," Harry grinned. "What did she say?"

She shook her head – indicating she didn't want to tell him. "It's not everything," she continued.

"What?"

"There's more. Apart from Ginny and my parents and Ron. There's more."

xx

Severus strode towards the backroom – towards the floo. Ridiculous idea. He never danced. He would, much less, dance with Hermione. He couldn't.

'You want to,' the annoying voice in his head chanted. Chanted! Damn voice. Damn this.

He strode, wanted to open the door to the backroom, when he turned around quickly – just to let Minerva and Aberforth know he was leaving (he had some manners, after all) and saw her standing there, in the corner. Quietly talking to Potter. She looked – sad.

'No,' he told himself – and the voice and, with a quick glance towards Minerva, he pushed down the handle to the room. Home – all he wanted was to go home. Home. Back to his dungeons. Back to the cold, lonely dungeons. Where he belonged.

He opened the door and when he pushed it open, he had to turn slightly to open it – and his eyes fell on Hermione again.

She shook her head, slowly, and even though he didn't know what she was talking about, he knew, without a doubt, without Legilimency, that she was sad. Desperately sad.

'And I bet you're to blame for that,' the treacherous voice in his head muttered.

'I'm not,' he argued angrily.

'I bet you could make it better.'

xx

"And I know that it seems unlikely, but he gave me a place, so to speak, to feel comfortable and I felt at peace down there in the dungeons. I know it sounds silly, but it's so quiet and silent and everything and he let me brew and he basically made me write that paper and I did and he was, for the lack of a better word, almost supportive about it. I mean, he did make all those sarcastic remarks but – nothing compared to the way we knew. And then he wrote this amazing, really amazing letter of recommendation and I overstepped the line and he," she paused, and tried desperately to swallow the tears that were threatening to spill, "just pushed me away."

"Oh Hermione," Harry said softly and took her in his arms. "Are you in love with him?"

She shook her head against his neck. "But he was such a great friend and now he isn't any more and I miss that. There was always respect and I call him sir still or Professor Snape and I'll always be Miss Granger, but I thought – you know – especially after that letter, that we were friends. But then I...and of course this was wrong and he did what he should have done."

"What did you do?"

"Ihuggedhim," she said rapidly, softly.

"What?" Harry asked back, softly.

"I hugged him."

"Oh. And he did?"

"Sent me away. Of course he did. I mean, hugging him? I've done it before but only because I was in pain after I got back from my parents but that was different. I shouldn't have done it and now I've messed it up."

"You hugged Snape. Okay. You hug a lot of people," he stated. "And if you were friends like that – I mean, you're the sort of person."

"Harry, please," she pulled away, "I may hug you, or even be crushed to death by Molly Weasley, or hug George, or maybe I don't know, the people I consider friends, but him? I can't hug him."

She bit her lip harder and wiped a stray tear from her face. "I just can't. Where's the respect in that?"

"Oh Hermione," Harry sighed. "What're you going to do?"

She shrugged – and wriggled out of his arms. "Nothing. I tried apologising but you know him."

Harry snorted. "Yes, I do. It took me about two nights to make him acknowledge my apology. And I don't know whether he has accepted it yet."

She sighed. "So – conclusion – I won't do anything. Just – concentrate on my studies. And do nothing else. Don't hug him any more. Don't touch him in any way. I don't think he likes it."

xx

"Don't hug him any more. Don't touch him in any way. I don't think he likes it," he heard her say clearly. So it was about him. She was sad because of him.

And he had no clue how it made him feel. But – he would make her talk. He would not like it – but, he knew he could deal with his own pain better than he could with hers.

'Damn, Snape,' the annoying voice in his head said, 'you like her too much already.'

'Yes," he muttered back and purposefully took the last two steps towards her. He didn't pay attention to the music. He didn't mind. Those two games Minerva would cheer for the Slytherins and her – probably smiling again – would make it alright. No matter what music. And honestly – who was there who would tell on him? Nobody in this room would dare to mock him either – except Minerva – and her, he could deal with. He couldn't deal with the inexplicable draw he felt towards Hermione.

Again – he pushed the thought to the back of his head. Nothing he wanted to have explained. Nothing he wanted to acknowledge. Nothing he wanted to think about.

"Miss Granger?" he said softly and both Harry and Hermione spun around.

"Professor Snape," Hermione found her voice first, "hello."

"Hi Professor," Harry smiled. "Erm, I should get back to Dotty, she looks like she's about ready to strangle Arthur."

Both of them watched Harry happily walking towards the strange girl, pressing a kiss on her temple and wrapping an arm around her.

"They're sweet," Hermione whispered – without meaning to.

"Sure," he replied sarcastically.

"Erm, sir? I wanted to apologise again for the other night. I was rash and too quick and just overwhelmed and wasn't thinking and I know I was crossing a line and erm, I just wanted to say I'm sorry," she stuttered.

He nodded slowly – and made up his mind. "Would you care to dance?"

"D-da-dance?" she stuttered.

"You know the concept? Two people – in this age anyway – on something called a dance floor, which can just be any free space – shuffling their feet."

She smiled – and wiped the rest of her tears away. "I understand the concept of dancing. But I thought..."

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her questioningly. "So?"

"I'd love to," she whispered and, a little hesitatingly, she lifted her hand.

He took it – slowly. Very slowly. Her small hand, very cold, covered by his – and only now, he noticed how large his own hands were. Hers disappeared in his almost. He looked in her eyes for only a moment, and they were shining – not with tears this time. Just shining and she was smiling. A full-blown, happy smile. Nothing what she had looked like two minutes ago. So he had been the one to make her unhappy.

He led her, without noticing, to the middle of the room – and, without knowing what he was doing – his hand moved to her waist and hers up to his shoulder.

No, definitely not the curry. A warm body in his arms. A warm, soft, wonderful body. It was her gentle, brown eyes looking up in his eyes, and her hand holding on tightly to his. He didn't even notice how his thumb rubbed over hers once – twice.

"You were crying," he stated softly, oblivious to the people looking at him.

"I was, I suppose," her head dropped a little and she seemed to be staring at his chest. But his feet moved on his own, and hers seemed to do to.

No – he liked her. Full stop. Accept it. He had to – otherwise he would end up making her cry again – and that wasn't something he was looking forward to. It would put him into a vicious circle. He would admit to himself that he liked her – then he would push her away, she would cry, he would dislike seeing her cry – then would admit to like her again.

No – there was a simple way around it. Really – admit now – not to her though – don't scare her away, keep her gently at a distance. Let her do the talking – as he had done before.

And she did. Of course she did. Without any prompting. "I was just a little upset," she said quietly, now looking up again. "The way Molly Weasley..."

"Almost broke your ribs?"

"You saw that? I thought she was suffocating me," she laughed softly.

"And that was what made you cry?" he asked before he could stop himself.

She nodded, then shook her head.

xx

What could she tell him? That she was upset because he had pushed her away? When at that moment, he had her in his arms and slowly led her around the dance floor? That wouldn't be right. She had apologised and hell, he was dancing, dancing! with her. She had never seen him dance. Not once.

She smiled. There. "My parents," she answered. "I, erm, I think I need to go back there soon. It's time, I believe. I think."

He nodded. "If you think so, I'm sure the headmistress will let you go."

She bit her lip – then, impulsively, and she knew she should keep her gob shut in moments like this, she began to speak. "Would you go with me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Would you go with me?" she asked again, blushing a little, squeezing his hand.

He breathed deeply – and she, accidentally, of course, moved a little closer to him, still swaying to the music, her hand still on his shoulder and her waist still very warm where his hand rested.

"I don't see how this would help," he replied.

"But it would. Don't you see? If you could tell them that they were in danger, it might not be so – I don't know how to express this."

"Your parents were in danger," he said.

"What?" she asked, looking up. "They were?"

"Did you doubt it? If you did, why did you sent them away?"

"It was more like the possibility that they could be in danger," she felt weird again – and the queasy feeling in her stomach had begun again. "And they were?"

"You did the right thing," he said – his voice gentler than she had ever heard it and she looked up in surprise.

"Would you – would you tell them that?"

He sighed exasperatedly. "Yes."

xx

Her face opened up somehow – her eyes were twinkling, dancing, her mouth curving in a beatific smile, and she squeezed his shoulder and his hand simultaneously. "Thank you!" she gushed.

He nodded – and smiled inwardly when she did step closer again. There was the strange impulse to sniff her hair, to bring his arms to her back and pull her close – finish the hug she had given him. But he would not. Of course he would not.

Besides, the music had just ended and he decided instead to pull away.

"Thank you for the dance, Professor," she smiled.

He nodded curtly.

"Is detention still cancelled?"

xx

No – no – she was allowed back down with him. He had said so. Well, technically, it had just been a yes – but it entailed so much more. Quietly brewing with him again, talking things over with him. And spending time with him. And apparently, he had no trouble with her touching him – in fact, he had held her a little tighter than was technically necessary and he had almost immediately agreed to go to her parents with her. She was allowed her detentions again.

And this made her sleepless. She was giddy. So – he had a phase when she had overwhelmed him – but he had gotten over that, apparently. And she liked it. It made her – happy. Very happy.

She decided that she was too awake to sleep – the confusion about the Weasleys gone (another of Molly's hugs had done the job), her fear of meeting her parents gone, her friendship with Severus somewhat restored.

And not even Ginny's snoring bothered her at the moment. No – she pulled her robes over her pyjamas. Courtyard. It would do her good – and calm her down. Make her sleepy.

xx

He slowly slid down the wall in the courtyard, the same sport she had sat on the last time he had been there on New Year's Eve. When she had sat in his arm. No, he had made the resolution that he would help her. And he had broken it already. He wouldn't again.

It seemed that his freedom – free of masters – had let him forget about his feeling dutiful against others – his deep sense of helping others. But then again, he never had to let anyone know that he was helping. But Hermione knew now. And that, well, it still made him vulnerable. If anyone apart from her knew. And she wouldn't tell anyone. Well, she had Potter, apparently, but Potter – Potter hadn't told anyone about him seeing his memories back during those Occlumency lessons. And Potter had made it clear that he would not tell anyone ever. So he could probably be trusted. To a certain degree.

And seriously, it was not as if he was in love with Hermione. He wasn't. He just liked her. That was it.

He sighed, pushing the thoughts about the woman to the back of his head and concentrated on the present. 3 minutes.

2 and a half minutes.

He flipped his pocket-watch shut and looked up into the sky. Black. Cloudy, no stars in sight.

"Oh sorry," the voice of Hermione said softly and he turned his head quickly.

He sighed. "Since you're already serving detention every day until the end of the month, it makes little sense to add to it because you're breaking curfew. But, well, five points off."

She smiled. "Mind if I sit down? I couldn't sleep."

"No," he said quietly.

She sat down and cast a warming charm on herself. "I actually didn't mind this party."

"Mh," he replied simply.

"It was nice to dance with you," she almost whispered. "I, erm, I'd like to thank you."

"What for now?" he asked, exasperatedly.

"For being there, for agreeing to see my parents with me," she turned her head and smiled. "And – for being something like a friend to me," she whispered barely audible.

"Friend?"

She blushed. "Oh, I'm sorry – was I too forward again?"

He said nothing but merely flipped his pocket-watch open again. "It's my birthday," he said very softly – and hoped immediately that she hadn't heard. But no such luck.

"It is?" she beamed. "Oh Happy Birthday!"

"Thank you," he mumbled and looked up in the sky. He knew this was the beginning. He had told her something personal – something of himself. He hadn't planned on it but after all, this was why he had come to the courtyard. The second birthday without woollen socks from Albus.

She said something, anything, but he didn't hear her. It was just him and his thought of the socks. Always outrageous, of course, but still in his drawer. Never worn – just mementos now. Nobody really remembered his birthday otherwise. It hadn't been celebrated at all the year before – nobody had known. Or cared.

"If I had known, I would have gotten you a present," he heard her voice again – and suddenly, a warm cup was shoved into his hands. "But I thought we could toast," she beamed. "And since you don't really drink any more and pumpkin juice seemed to be somehow too cold for this kind of weather and..."

"Thank you," he repeated, a little louder and, seeing her smiling face, he clinked his cup against hers.

They sipped their tea in silence.

xx

His birthday. The first thing he had ever told her about himself – and it made her proud. Very, very proud and happy and special.

"Erm, I know you don't really ask people, but, how old are you today?"

"39," he replied. "And I never really saw the point of someone hiding their age."

She chuckled. "Me either. But I have this aunt who's been 39 for the last fifteen years, I think."

He raised his eyebrows and, taking another sip of the tea, he looked up into the sky, sitting quietly – making Hermione smile. 39 – his birthday. Two facts about his life from his own mouth. Friends. He had reacted to her when she had said friends. It was a start. A perfect start. He let her in. The ever private, mysterious man now had a birthday and an age. January 9th 1960 – and then she remembered.

Of course she had known before. She had. She had read that bit in the paper about him being born. She was short of slapping her forehead. Of course she had known. How stupid of her to forget. She could have gotten him a present.

But then again – he wouldn't have told her. Or she would have given him the present before he had told her.

No, definitely better that she had forgotten.

She sighed happily – and, once more, acted on impulse. They had danced, for heaven's sake, this wouldn't hurt him.

She put the cup carefully on the ground and, sitting next to him, she turned her head and, taking her heart in her hands, leant closer and wanted to peck him gently on the cheek. A birthday kiss.

xx

She was moving slightly next to him and he just had to turn and look what she was doing – it was ingrained into his very being to try and see everything that was going on. But what was happening – no, he hadn't expected it.

Suddenly, very, very suddenly, her lips were on his. For a moment. She kissed him. On the mouth. Kissed him.

Kissed Severus Snape. On the mouth. On his lips. It was over before it had begun and it took him another moment to realise that he had closed his eyes on impulse and he opened them rapidly.

"Miss Granger," he said, not sure whether it was a statement or a question.

"Oh sorry. Sorry. I, erm, meant on the cheek, birthday kiss," she blushed and he could almost see the glow in the dark. "Just, turned your head and, oh God, I'm sorry."

He arched an eyebrow, then nodded slowly, watching her getting up. "Erm, good night, Professor Snape – and happy birthday again," she whispered rapidly but before she could completely run away, he grabbed the hem of her robes and she looked down – like a doe caught in the headlights.

"Thank you," he said softly – and gave her his first real smile in years.

_**xx**_


	40. Chapter 40

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Harry Potter, famous for a scar and being a Horcrux (and yes, it had taken a while to explain all this to the girl currently holding his hand), laughed at the memory of the evil git Snape, looking so gentle at his best friend.

"What are you laughing about?" Dotty tugged on his hand and looked at him.

"Snape and Hermione," he chuckled.

"Why is that funny?"

He still chuckled, then took her other hand as well, making her face him. "I suppose you wouldn't know but Snape, he was, I don't know how to put this, quite mean when I was at school. To me, to Hermione, to everyone. He gave the most detentions, docked the most points, was generally quite unlikeable, really. He was always snarky and evil and mean. He used to call Hermione know-it-all, made fun of her teeth, belittled us, in general. He made me miserable. And I think he made a lot more people miserable as well."

She looked a little lost, then her eyes lit up. "Oh, I remember Auntie Rose telling me about him. Severus Snape, right?"

Harry nodded.

"He was the spy? And he was in love with your mother and he had to be careful not to blow his cover and was almost proclaimed dead until they noticed he had put himself into a coma because of that snake."

"Your aunt told you that?" he asked, stunned.

"No, that was in the paper," she shrugged. "But Auntie confirmed it."

"Damn Prophet," Harry muttered. "So then you know why it seemed strange that he was dancing with Hermione."

"Not really," she shook her head. "I mean, well, he played a role, right? And he was at the Head a few times and you talked to him normally. So why should it surprise you that he danced with Hermione?"

Harry sighed. "I don't know. I think there's something going on between them – Hermione's probably in love with him already and he doesn't seem the type to fall in love."

"He was in love with your mother," Dotty argued.

"Yes, technically, I know that. But I had him always down as a heartless, cold bastard."

"He's apparently not," she smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the lips, "did you see the way he looked at Hermione? It was only a moment, when they started dancing but this is not the way a heartless, cold bastard looks at anyone. Much less at a woman he likes."

"So you think he likes her as well?" Harry asked, grinning lopsidedly at her after the kiss and touching his fingertips to her cheek.

"Absolutely," she grinned back. "He might be a bit old but, I don't know, they looked good together."

"They did?" Harry asked.

"Are you uncomfortable with her falling for him?" she asked, the smile faltering.

"No, it's not that, it's, I don't know. It seems weird. I know Snape's changed a little – he's free of those who ruled his life. I know that but I'd've never thought that he would like Hermione. He never really did," he shook his head.

"Harry, but Hermione, from what you told me, and from what I read, she could do with someone who likes her. That Ron, that was his name, right?, he wasn't good for her and she seems very nice."

"She is very nice. And I agree, she needs someone nice – but Snape isn't. He made her cry. I mean, not directly. When Arthur bugged you about all those muggle things, she talked to me and he made her sad – pushed her back. He will do so again," he groaned.

"Of course he will," Dotty smiled again, "but that only shows that she likes him. And vice versa."

"I didn't push you back," Harry argued.

She sighed. "Harry, you and me, this is not how things usually go. You should know that. It's not usual to run someone over and two days later being a couple. It's not standard. People dance around each other, one might be insecure, the other might be insecure and sorry, but from what I heard and read and what Auntie told me, and what I figured out by myself, I seriously doubt if either one of them is the most secure person right now," she raised her hand when she noticed he wanted to speak. "I don't know them of course and I don't know this world at all, but Harry, imagine suddenly being basically without a purpose all of a sudden. I mean, Severus Snape, he was a spy, right? For such a long time. He lived for that. He lived a lie for that. He kept everything a secret. Now, that entire big, huge, large, mega-secret is out. Everyone knows. That makes everyone insecure. And Hermione, sorry, but I can piece things together and if that, whatever the name of this Ron's wife is, is three months gone, she was pregnant before the two of them were broken up. And the pictures in the paper – whew. So, Hermione's self-esteem is probably not that high at the moment, so what do you expect? But they could be so good together. I think. I mean...," she blushed, "listen to me, knowing nothing and still giving lectures."

"You're sweet," Harry whispered and kissed her softly. "I don't know if you're right, but you're sweet."

xx

"So Severus really is smitten," Aberforth grinned – then fell silent when his wife slipped her underrobes over her head and watched in awe at her. She might not be the youngest – and he knew that her body was ageing with her – but in his eyes, she was just as beautiful as she had been 60 years ago.

"You were saying?" Minerva smirked, walking into the bathroom in nothing but her underwear. She knew he would follow her sooner or later – the bed was comfortable, yes – but he hadn't missed watching her get ready for bed yet since they had gotten married. And yes, he was behind her within seconds.

"Severus. Hermione," he replied, perching on the edge of the tub. "Smitten."

"Mhm," Minerva replied, beginning to brush her teeth.

"Are you alright with this? I mean he is her teacher still after all," he reasoned. "I mean, it would do him good – and her, with all that business with the Weasley boy..."

"Dishtellyu?" Minerva asked, mouth full of toothpaste.

"Arthur did," he replied. "When you were dragging Severus here. Before she arrived. Ugly business. Apparently, as soon as he was on that team, he took advantage of the fact that there are always a lot of women around."

Minerva mumbled something – and it was probably better – by the look on her face when she stared in the mirror – that it was not comprehensible.

"And she knows this," Aberforth continued.

Minerva spit the toothpaste out and turned around to face him. "But Severus will hurt her."

"He won't."

"He will. Because he doesn't know closeness. He doesn't know it. He doesn't know how to behave, how to be. He just doesn't know. It's not his fault. It's just the way it is. He made mistakes, and we made mistakes concerning him and he doesn't know how to let someone in there," she sighed. "It was all of us, it started at school, it continued from there. Look, I consider Severus a kind of friend. He's an exceptional listener, even though nobody would believe it, and I've told him all kinds of things over the years – and he never told me anything. And by that, he will hurt Hermione. Because she needs communication. She needs someone who talks to her about more than potions and, well, I don't know. And he can't do it. I'm very sorry he can't but that's the way he is," she took a brush and combed through her hair.

"He can change," Aberforth argued.

"He can't. Don't get me wrong, I think, theoretically, they'd go well together. And I wouldn't mind if they began something. Not now, not in the future. But it won't happen and Hermione will come out hurt."

"Did you see them dancing?"

"Yes – and up until then, I completely agreed with you. I really did. But did you watch them dancing?"

"Of course I did," he replied and took the brush from her hands and did it for her – earning a beautiful smile. "And they looked good together. They looked happy. Severus was close to smiling, I think."

"He listened. She talked. Not the way a relationship should go," she argued and took the brush from his hands.

"He needs some time to open up to her," he argued back. "Everyone does. It's normal."

"Hermione doesn't. Not normally. You didn't."

Aberforth sighed and, after watching her change into her nightgown, he took her hand and led her to bed. "Of course I didn't take time to open up to you. Well, no, that's not right. I needed time. Only it was six decades ago. And you don't remember."

"No, I don't remember," she groaned and lay down, immediately snuggling into his arms as he pulled the covers over both of them. "But Severus is not you. He kept secrets all his life. As I said, he just never learned how to open up to someone. He never told anyone anything. Why should he change for Hermione?"

"The same reason why every single person wants to change," he said softly and tightened his arms around her, pulled her closer and kissed her hair.

"Which is?"

"He's in love," he said wisely.

"In love? He's not."

"He is," Aberforth replied. "Did you see the way he looked at her?"

"Yes, but in love?"

"I thought you agreed?"

"I did. Until he took off. He danced with her because he knows I will cheer for Slytherin."

He chuckled and kissed her again. "I will go and see those games. I hope you know that."

Minerva groaned – then suddenly, shot up and sat straight in bed.

"Was is it, Erva?" he asked and sat up as well. "What happened?"

"What date is it?" she asked.

"It's 1.30, so technically, it's the ninth," he replied. "Why? Erva, you're scaring me."

"It's his birthday," she said breathlessly. "It's Severus's birthday and I haven't gotten him anything."

Aberforth lay back down and sighed. "And you wonder why he doesn't open up to anyone?"

xx

Okay – birthday. Birthday. Gift. Hermione knew that nothing could beat the book she had given him for Christmas, but there, she had just been lucky. And well – seriously – that night, all her doubts had vanished suddenly. He hadn't pushed her away when she had introduced the idea of friendship. Hell, he hadn't even pushed her away when she had kissed him.

Kissed him. She tried to smother herself in her pillow (while at the same time drowning out Ginny's snoring) and knew that she was blushing spectacularly. More than spectacularly. Probably her face was glowing through the pillow into the room.

But seriously – his lips had been warm. Chapped, yes. Warm, yes. And not so – bloodless, lifeless – as Ron's had been. Not that she could compare it really. Her lips had barely been on his for half a second. She had pulled away almost immediately and hadn't dared to look at him, really. Warm lips – and he had thanked her.

Three times. In total. And he had never thanked her ever before. Not ever. And now, that night – wow. Surprises, it was just full of surprises.

A few hours ago, she had been depressed because she thought she had lost the opportunity to be his friend – and now, now, it had all turned upside down within the course of just a few hours. Just a few hours. First he had danced with her (and his hands had been warm – warm hands, warm lips) and he had agreed to go to her parents with her. He had let her sit next to him in the courtyard – after taking five points for her being out of curfew, of course. He had told her about his birthday, his age. And that alone was – big. Just big. And she got daring and instead of his cheek – it was his warm lips.

And after that – oh dear – he had held her back. By the hem of her robes. And had thanked her again.

That smile – she shook her head and had to lean up on her elbows for a moment. Smothering herself in her pillow was not the best idea. She did need some air to breathe after all. But that smile. It had made him look so much younger, and so – free.

She knew – just knew – that there was a different person buried somewhere in there. Not necessarily a nice person – but a person who could smile and who could accept other people. With his wit, his smart remarks, and that smile – it was different. And that different was lovely.

No – she didn't want to take his snarkiness away, nor his biting someone's head off – it was who he was after all and she couldn't even imagine him being all mushy and kind and coddling and caring and all that.

Though – he was caring. He cared.

Hermione sat up in bed suddenly. He cared. He had always done. He had always protected them – her, Harry, even Ron. He was caring. He just didn't show it. And that caring person – was it the same that had been smiling? Or – was it all in him?

She shook her head – her thoughts were just too confusing. Too confusing for two in the morning.

And the trouble was – she still didn't know what to give him for his birthday.

Books – probably just what everyone was giving him. Potion ingredients? Probably, but since most of the apothecaries were closed on Sundays, she couldn't get them. And she didn't know much about him other than that. Potions and books about potions. Not a lot, really.

She lay back down, exhaled loudly and flopped on her side – she was tired. Really – and she could ask that elf that had woken her the other night in his lab what he liked. Maybe that elf would talk to her.

Hermione Granger brushed her fingertips over her lips. His had been so warm. Chapped and warm.

xx

Severus Snape brushed his fingertips over his lips. The last time someone had ki...

'No, don't go there,' he told himself. It wasn't the annoying voice. It was more like his own, raspy voice right now and he knew it was reasonable not to think about it. She hadn't meant to kiss him there after all. But still – she had wanted to kiss his cheek. Kissing him on the cheek.

Was that something friends did? He remembered Lily kissing his cheek when they'd been children – but after that? Well, since he had no real friends since his fifth year, he wouldn't know, would he?

But if being friends with someone, with her, with Hermione, was always like this, so – comfortable – then he didn't mind.

Well, yes, it was awkward and strange and he didn't know why he felt so comfortable with her, why he had told her about his birthday at all, why he had let her sit next to him – he didn't know any of those things.

'Will you shut it and stop thinking about it. Enjoy it,' the annoying voice was back.

'I have to think about it. I don't know what's happening,' he argued.

'You don't have to.'

Severus Snape was a very confused man at the moment – and, grew even more confused when he found himself brushing against his lips again.

He pulled his hand away rapidly and ran his tongue over his lips. Bad idea – he had done it after she had left the courtyard and there was the faintest taste of something that wasn't him – that wasn't anything that he had eaten and he gathered that it was hers. Her taste.

Not that the taste was still there, he had brushed his teeth and had applied some self-made salve on his lips. The touching and running his tongue over them had chapped them. And he disliked chapped lips, they hurt unnecessarily, and burned when he ate or drank or touched his lips or ran his tongue over them.

So – his tongue and fingers safely away from his mouth – he knew that he could not push her away again. He had thanked her for Merlin's sake and she probably thought he had thanked her for the kiss. And he wasn't sure if he had. He wasn't sure what he had thanked her for. The night, the dance, the wishing him a happy birthday, the kiss – he wasn't sure. He couldn't know, could he?

He had acted impulsively and he didn't even remember the last time he had done that. Years – decades. So – what was she thinking that he had thanked her and smiled at her? He couldn't do that any more. Smiling? No – he wouldn't smile any more. He would go to her parents with her – would let her brew – he would not let her sit next to him in the courtyard again – he would send her straight to bed the next time he would find her there – or she would find him there. That was it – keep it to the lab and that was it. Oh, and her parents, of course.

If he was in his familiar surroundings – and what was more familiar than his lab? - he wouldn't be tempted to do unfamiliar things – like smiling or thanking her. That was it. His familiar surroundings – no unfamiliar behaviour. Simple.

He said a soft nox and turned on his side to sleep, sighing and tried very hard not to remember the feeling of her lips on his.

xx

"No, no, no!"

"I din't say anything."

"Yes."

"No."

"You cannot say zat you didn't say anyzing."

"I can because I didn't."

"You did."

A mug clashed against a cupboard – a porcelain figurine was smashed against the floor, the palm of a hand connected to a cheek and then there was silence. And someone in the bathroom – and someone in the bedroom.

_**xx**_


	41. Chapter 41

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx **_

Hermione felt actually energetic after getting up. Two, maybe three hours of sleep and she felt quite relaxed and rested. 'Amazing,' she thought, then remembered that she had a job to do today. Mission Severus's birthday - make it a day to remember for him.

She dressed quickly, pulled her hair in a bun and went to the library. Nobody was in the library at 5.30 in the morning on a Sunday (except Madam Pince – who hadn't even noticed her coming inside – did that woman live in the library?). She took a deep breath. "Erm, I need an elf," she said loudly and almost immediately, one she didn't know appeared.

"What cans I do for you?" the elf asked and shrunk back slightly from Hermione and stood in the middle of the room, apparently afraid to touch anything.

"Erm, yes, I'd like to talk to the elf that woke me the other day. I think he or she is assigned to Professor Snape?"

"Dizzy, Miss hat-girl?"

"I'm not Head Girl," Hermione shook her head. "And I don't know what the elf is called – but about this high, large eyes and pretty eyes." She smiled encouragingly.

"Dizzy serves Master Snape," the elf said with an air of finality and popped away.

"Great," Hermione sighed and sat down on one of the table – actually on top of the table. Madam Pince would probably not see her anyway – she was buried behind huge folders on her desk – whatever that meant.

"Miss hat-girl?" another elf popped into the library and took a step back as well.

"Oh, you woke me, right?" she asked, skipping off the table.

"Yes, Miss hat-girl," the elf nodded and looked around carefully.

"Oh, it's not Head Girl. It's hat girl. I get it now," Hermione gasped. "I swear, Dizzy, I will not give you clothes, not hat, nothing. I promise, really."

"No clothes?"

"No," Hermione smiled. "See, there are none," she held her hands up and showed them to the elf. "And I have none hidden behind me or anywhere."

"Thank you, Miss hat-girl," the elf bobbed her head. "What's can I do for you?"

"Erm, it's Professor Snape's birthday today, right?" the elf nodded, "and I would like for him to have a cake. In case someone hasn't thought of doing that for him yet."

"A cake? For Master Snape?" the elf shook her head. "Nobody ever think of it. And he woulds give Dizzy clothes if Dizzy did on her own but if order come from Miss hat-girl. No, Miss cake-girl."

Hermione smiled. "Do you know what he likes?"

"Dark, bitter chocolate with cocoa splinters," the elf nodded enthusiastically.

"And can you manage until he starts breakfast?"

"Master Snape has not get up yet so Dizzy can manage"

"Wonderful! Thank you so much," Hermione beamed. "And, do you know what he likes for his birthday? As a present?"

The elf looked pensive for a moment. "Master Snape likes your help in the lab," she said and popped away.

Hermione almost fell back on the table. What kind of an answer was that? It didn't help her one bit. Liked her help – so maybe if she continued to go down to the dungeons? But that wasn't a present, was it? No, not really. And as to getting to know what he liked besides books and potions – or books about potions – nothing. That elf was just a fount of information.

Oh well – she was sure there already was breakfast and she would have some quiet down there. She grabbed a random book from the potions-shelf and wrote a note for Madam Pince, who was still hidden behind folders and rushed out the library. Almost not sleeping and thinking about a present had made her hungry.

And the cake – well, she was sure the elf knew what he liked and that he would enjoy it. Hermione merely hoped that there was no stupid icing on it – or writing – _from hat-gir_l or something. That would just be awful. And she wasn't sure she wanted him to know that she was the one who made sure he got a cake.

Seriously – no cake before? Not that she had expected anyone to give him one the year before – but what about before that? And before that? And before that? Not ever since he came here? That seemed just – harsh. One would think that someone would remember his birthday and would just tell an elf to make a bloody cake. It took thirty seconds. No – it took thirty seconds to actually ask what kind of cake he liked and bring the elf to make it. On short notice, within, probably the next ten minutes (elves baked really fast – and cooked really fast. Something to do with their magic but she couldn't bring Kreacher to explain it to her). She began to grasp the entire matter – well, probably.

He was basically the person everybody had taken for granted during the war – the person everyone relied on and he played the role perfectly. And everyone, after the war, still took it for granted that he had done it – but at the same time – hated him for what he was supposed to do. It was the same with the thank yous. Nobody did. And it seemed nobody had done so before.

She wondered, just before she pushed the door to the Great Hall open, what else she could do – without making him push her away again for turning him into a _project_. Because, well, he wasn't. It was simply his smile that she couldn't get out of her mind. In that moment, stepping into the Great Hall, she made a promise to herself that she would make him smile today. At least once. Somehow.

It was completely empty – the sun not even up yet – the ceiling of the Hall dark, a few clouds rushing by. There weren't even any papers around, the entire Hall was clean and tidied up, all the benches and chairs sat perfectly straight, exactly the way they were supposed to. She sighed deeply, loudly and sat down on a place nearest to the staff table. It was almost eerie being alone in there – so quiet. She had been there when there hadn't been a lot of people, yes, but there was always some noise, never so quiet. Eerie, but at the same time, somehow awe-inspiring.

She decided to hold back on getting breakfast from the elves and lay carefully back on the bench, staring up at the enchanted ceiling.

It was a sudden thought that hit her – and hit her hard.

She realised, so suddenly it was almost a blow – that she hadn't been this happy and content outside the courtyard in a long time.

Hermione smiled and concentrated on the ceiling and her own breath.

xx

He rolled out of bed, still tired but unable to sleep any more. He wasn't sure whether he had slept at all but then again, it was Sunday and he could spend the day in his lab – or reading – and he didn't have to concentrate on torturing – teaching – students who didn't want to learn. He could do what he wanted.

He sat on his bed, his eyes unfocused, his head in his hands.

He hadn't left his office that day. Albus had congratulated him for his birthday but he had ignored him. Just ignored him. That idiot Carrow had come in and had told him that he had punished Longbottom again because of he-didn't-remember. Carrow never needed a reason – and he had told him to leave at least the purebloods alone. Not that it had helped. Carrow had left and he painfully remembered sitting there, watching out the window – staring at the Lake. Alone. Even if Albus had tried and talked to him. A bit later, Mercury had flown to his window and he had petted the bird. Without saying anything. What was there to say? He couldn't even bring himself to say 'I'm sorry' to Albus's portrait. He couldn't. He just couldn't. He had wanted to – he had wanted to say 'thank you' for all the socks he had gotten over the years. But there was just a portrait. A bloody, damn portrait and that was merely an imprint. It couldn't really answer back – it wasn't Albus whom he could thank or apologise to. Just a bloody painting. And no, at that time – he hadn't been ready. And he probably never would be.

He shook his head – and got up heavily. It had already been a better birthday than last year – but he would make sure she stayed away from him. He didn't want to draw any attention to the fact that it was his birthday.

He got showered, got dressed, his usual attire, of course, and, even though it was only shortly after six, he would get breakfast in the Great Hall – he had actually for a moment, thought if he should just stay in his chambers that morning – or the entire day – but then had decided against it.

After all – it was just a normal Sunday, wasn't it? It wasn't as if anyone – except Hermione – was going to acknowledge this day. So, not showing up would raise suspicion. Probably.

Not that anyone ever was in the Great Hall that early on a Sunday morning – and that was another reason why he wanted to go. The Great Hall in the early mornings was his third favourite place in the entire castle – right after his private lab and the courtyard. It was so silent and almost eerie – in a good kind of way. Like the entire world was empty and there was nobody but him there. Everyone else ignoring him and not bothering him, not bugging him, not wanting anything from him, not looking at him, trying to figure out his secrets.

He warded his door and strode to the Great Hall – almost looking forward to having a good breakfast, a nice cup of coffee, maybe another one (especially since he drank tea the rest of the day, he needed coffee in the mornings), maybe a full breakfast for once.

He pushed one of the backdoors to the Hall open and stalked in, and, sat down. Only then, his eyes swept around the Hall – and he saw her, lying on the bench, her eyes wide open, staring up on the ceiling, her knees pulled up, her feet on the bench, her arms dangling over it, her head resting, the way he could see it, on a messy bun. He merely hoped she hadn't put a muggle pen, or worse, a quill in there. The thing would break and she would hurt the back of her head.

He made a decision in that moment when he saw her lying there – so peaceful.

xx

"If you don't stop zat attitude, I will go to my muzzer's," she squealed.

"Then go!" he yelled. "It was you who started. It was you who said it wasn't mine."

"It iss yours," she yelled back and a plate, with the fried eggs on them flew against the kitchen wall.

"You said it wasn't mine, Gabrielle. You said it first," he shouted and threw his mug against the wall – tea-stains joining the eggs.

"You were my firsst," she spat loudly.

"You were no virgin. A guy knows."

"I was," she stormed towards him and her palm connected with his cheek. Against.

"You weren't. And so, it's not mine. Fine! I'll just go," he pushed her aside – and a chair out of the way. "I should have never shagged you!"

Ronald Weasley took leave of his wife. 16-year-old wife who had told him two days ago in a fight that there was the huge possibility that the baby was not his. He left all his clothes in the little flat they had rented – and disapparated. So – if the baby wasn't his – if he had known that – he would have never married her. He only married her because of her pregnancy – everyone knew that. Hell, him, getting tied down so young? No way.

That why he had ended things with Hermione – to be free – to enjoy the pleasures of all those girls hanging around the quidditch pitch. He needed to sow his wild oats – that's why he had left Hermione after all. A boring, tied down relationship, that was Hermione. And he hadn't wanted it.

And seriously, if Gabrielle's parents, and her sister and his damn parents hadn't forced him to get married to bloody Gabrielle, he would have never done it. And now the reason why he had bloody well even asked her wasn't probably, most likely, not even a reason any more. What kind of bloody idiocy was that anyway?

Oh well – he would go to practise, then probably go back to his parents. Or – maybe find a new flat. Or send Gabrielle to her parents. It would come to him.

xx

Quietly, as to not to disturb her, he walked towards the Gryffindor table. Not that he would sit down there – Merlin forbid – but there was nobody in Hall – and nobody would come in for at least another hour. Usually, Minerva was an early riser – but with Aberforth there, that certain characteristic of the headmistress had almost entirely vanished.

He could see now clearly her eyes being wide open. Very wide open, staring, following the clouds on the enchanted ceiling and he stood almost completely next to her. Now was the time that he needed to speak – without startling her and making her fall off the bench.

"Good morning," he said, very softly.

"Oh," she replied and shot up – without losing her balance. She sat now, with her feet still on the bench, and her knees almost drawn to her chest. "Good morning. Happy birthday again," she smiled. "I thought I was the only one here."

He nodded. "So did I," he replied – barely above a whisper. "But since nobody is here but you and me, I thought you might like to have breakfast up at the staff table? It would make little sense to try a conversation – and I know you will – with you sitting down here and me up there."

She beamed. "And you wouldn't sit down here, would you?"

"Not upon pain of death," he dead-panned and made his way up towards the staff table. He heard her steps soon afterwards and couldn't hide the smirk that was appearing on his face.

And honestly, it was almost not a smirk – almost a smile – because it had been the first time in about 20 years that he didn't have breakfast on his birthday alone. Well, without decent conversation anyway.

xx

She grinned like a madwoman. No, worse than a madwoman. She grinned like – oh, she wasn't sure which metaphor to use. But she grinned like mad anyway. He wanted to have breakfast with her. It wasn't just her who wanted to talk to him. No, he wanted to talk with her. A conversation. He had said that. He knew she would want to talk to him.

And yes, she was skipping up to the staff table. She was excited to talk to him – over a meal. Over his cake.

Oh dear.

Crossing her fingers in the sleeves of her brown, hooded sweater, she wished, with all her heart, that there was no reference of her on his cake.

"Can I really sit here?" she asked, pulling the chair next to him back.

"I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise," he drawled and tapped on the table.

Hermione crossed her fingers harder, tighter. She knew the cake would appear at any moment. And if there was anything about hat-girl on there – he would know. And he would think that she was there just to see him. Which she wasn't. She just couldn't sleep any more. But him being there – bonus. Very nice.

She sat down and smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

"Adequate," he replied and she looked closely at him. The cake would appear any moment now. Any moment.

And then it happened. His face – only for a split seconds showed a myriad of emotions. It was the first time ever she saw so many emotions on his face. Regret – hurt – pain – pleasure – unbelievable joy – and most of all – surprise. A big, dark brown chocolate cake stood before him – not a piece of cake, an entire cake. There was no icing on it, no writing and her fingers relaxed.

"Wow," she said and smiled at him but _his_ face was back. Neutral. Not conveying any feeling. But it had been there. He had shown it. Surprise.

"It's lovely cake," she added, very softly.

xx

A cake. A cake. That was – new. New. New. Not that he could remember ever getting a cake. Just for him. Not that he got all soppy about it – it was just a fact. A stone-cold fact about his life. He took a deep breath and turned his head. Hermione – Hermione was smiling broadly at him. It had been her – he was sure. Dizzy knew that he would give her clothes if she did. Or would ban her from serving him.

He cleared his throat. "Would you like a piece?"

She nodded slowly. "I'd love one."

He was about to cut it with the knife that the elves had graciously send up with the cake when he felt her warm hand on his, just on top of his hand that was resting on the table. He looked at her again and saw into her soul – well, almost. But her face was so open, that smile so broad and so happy – for him.

He curled his fingers a little and squeezed her hand. "You didn't threaten Dizzy with clothes, did you?"

"Excuse me?" she asked, squeezing his hand as well.

He looked deeply into her eyes and didn't need an answer.

_**xx**_


	42. Chapter 42

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

He did not have the heart to pull his hand away. She would probably take it as a rebuff – even though he could probably just do that. He knew it – he knew that, if someone walked in at that moment, and saw them – sitting there, his hand on his, or in his, and looking at one another like they were doing, the wrong conclusions would be drawn immediately.

He most certainly would draw them – seriously, what did it look like? A teacher and a student, at the staff-table, sitting close? But it wasn't like this – he knew and he could see in Hermione's eyes that she knew it as well. It was a gentle expression she wore – one entirely free of malice, of scheming, of having an agenda. No, she just looked into his eyes and her eyes were smiling. And he hoped that his eyes looked the same even though he doubted it. He could never, would never, more likely, put so much expression into his eyes.

Slowly, he pulled his hand away and, looking away, he concentrated on the cake and cut it. Two large pieces. It was probably the darkest cake he had ever seen – tiny black dots inside from where there were cocoa slivers – little bitter pieces.

"That's an impressive cake," Hermione grinned. "I didn't know you liked chocolate so much."

He levitated a piece on a plate – then levitated the plate to Hermione. "It's not sweet," he replied simply.

"Still," she muttered and took a fork and tried a bit – her eyes glazed over. "It's...definitely not sweet," she gasped and took another forkful. "Is that really cocoa slivers?"

He smirked at her. "So did you threaten Dizzy with clothes?"

Hermione blushed – given herself away.

"She calls them cocoa splinters, but yes, it's slivers from cocoa beans. Very bitter, very dry when you eat them pure, but that way..."

"It's perfect," she gushed and when he looked over, half her piece was gone.

He smirked at her again. "I can see you like it. It's, erm, it was very nice of you."

She blushed again – and nodded. "It was my pleasure. I actually want to give you a present but that elf wasn't helpful."

"Excuse me?" he asked and pushed his chair away a little. "You asked the elf about a present for me? Whatever for?"

She let her head fall forward. "I don't know what you like, Professor Snape," she mumbled. "Apart from the fact that you liked the book I gave you for Christmas, I don't know what else you like. And Dizzy came up with the cake. I would have never taken you for someone who likes dark, bitter chocolate and knows about cocoa slivers. Or – I don't know. And," she sighed, "I want to give you something, I think it's part of a birthday."

Severus Snape looked at her – and for the second time that morning, he was surprised beyond belief. It took him a moment longer to process what she had just said. No – she had the ability to surprise him so often. Still – that couldn't be good.

"Are you asking a personal question?" he asked, his tone sharper than before.

She shrugged. "Not really. I just wanted to give you something nice for your birthday and your elf was no help at all."

"First of all, Dizzy is not my elf," he replied without missing a beat, "and second, I have already mentioned – more than once – that the book you have given me for Christmas, was, erm, a lovely gift."

"I don't think you mentioned it more than once," she muttered and handed him her plate. "Can I have another piece, please?"

He rolled his eyes and levitated another bit on her plate. "But it would interest me what Dizzy answered."

Hermione sighed. "She said something like, Master Snape likes my help in the lab."

He had difficulties – now – to keep his face in the mask. It was true – very true. He liked her help – and needed a house elf to make him realise it. Well – to tell her and she made him realise. And he couldn't just tell her that yes, he did like her help and that he would very much enjoy to spend this day down in his lab with her, writing the paper on the other table, or her, chopping, preparing ingredients for him, watching over his shoulder or standing so close that her arm brushed against his repeatedly.

No – that he couldn't tell her. He couldn't even acknowledge that he liked her help. "She'll get clothes."

Hermione smiled. "Better not. Without her, I wouldn't have gotten this cake."

He nodded and quietly finished his own piece. It was divine – wonderful. Juicy but not overly sweet – the cocoa slivers adding to the fine taste of the bitter chocolate.

xx

"I should go," she said a few minutes later – none the wiser about what to give him. Maybe he was right – even though he had not said it in so many words – but yes, she could never top that one present. The very first present she had given him. A coincidence, yes, but nevertheless the perfect thing to give. Well – she would think – and she couldn't very well do that with him present. He wouldn't even give her an answer. And she certainly didn't want to be found sitting up there with him. It would start rumours, nasty rumours – and almost the entire school already disliked her – no need to add to that. No need to make him uncomfortable – and he would be – if others knew about their tentative friendship. It would break it. "I think I might begin to write my applications."

"Yes," he replied and, pointing his wand at the cake, and one half of the rest was wrapped in paper and he made it float towards her. "But I still think that a WU is a bad idea."

She groaned. "I know but where will I learn all that otherwise?"

"Here, silly woman," he ground out, "the Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and even Sprout, as well as Madam Pince and I have agreed to teach you. You will have to work a lot by yourself – and only have an hour or two lessons every day but..."

"Are you serious?" she asked. "But I couldn't do that. I mean all of you would take me on?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Yes, yes, but," she stuttered, "that's too big. I don't think I can do that."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Then go to a WU and learn absolutely nothing."

She bit her lip. "I'll have to think about it," she said softly. "Is it alright if I come by later?"

He arched an eyebrow – and she knew that this was his way of saying yes. "Alright," she continued, "I'll see you later then. Thanks for the cake."

xx

Practise had been rotten. Bloody rotten. He couldn't concentrate since he knew that he would have to find a place to sleep – and only at the end of the session, it came to him. He showered quickly, cleaned his clothes with his wand and apparated. Granted, it was a bit early in the day (he had no idea why practise was always so early) and he didn't know if it was appropriate to just apparate there but after all – the Hog's Head did serve breakfast, didn't it? And it had guest rooms. And well, Harry was his friend after all, wasn't he?

Ronald Weasley pushed the door to the pub open and was astonished at how crowded the place was – how clean – and who was that pretty, very beautiful, stunning, girl serving coffee with a smile? He wriggled his eyebrows and stepped in – and, scanning the room – decided on a seat at the counter.

"Good morning," he said to the girl. "The last time I was here, the barkeep was a grumpy old man named Aberforth."

The girl raised her eyebrows. "Tea or coffee?"

"Tea, please," he replied.

"Oh, and Abe is with his wife at the moment but should be in at any moment," she said coldly, banging a cup of tea on the counter.

"Wife?" Ron asked, struck.

"Yes," she replied – her eyebrows raised.

"What about Harry?"

"Harry is in the back cooking. Who are you?" the girl asked.

"My name is Ron. Harry's my best mate. And you are?"

Suddenly, the girl frowned – and turned away. "None of your business, Ronald Weasley," she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

Ron frowned – how had she known who he was? But then again he was in the papers quite often and so many people greeted him – congratulated him on his wedding – it was no miracle that this beauty knew him as well.

xx

"Harry?" Dotty asked gently, standing behind her boyfriend as he cooked some eggs. She wrapped her arms around his waist and put her chin on his shoulder.

"Yes, Dotty?"

"Your, I quote, _best mate _Ron sits out there," she replied and kissed his earlobe. "And I think he was trying to chat me up."

"Ron?" he turned around, "chat you up?" He wiped his hands on a towel. "Will you watch the eggs?"

She smiled broadly and gave him a little smack on his bottom as he stormed out of the kitchen.

"Ron!" he said angrily, standing in front of his former best friend. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hi Harry," Ron said, suddenly meekly. "I, erm, didn't know where to go to."

"Why do you have any reasons to go anywhere?" Harry replied coldly.

"Gabrielle and I – well, let's just say that the baby isn't mine," he stated, his ears getting a pink tinge. "And I basically moved out."

"What?" Harry asked – shocked but not quite believing.

"Well, she thinks I'm not the father of her child – or she thought so at first and then I said that I was the father and the next day, she said she was a virgin and that I was the father but then I said that I thought that I wasn't, because why should she bloody tell me that I wasn't before?"

"And what makes you think you can come here?"

Ron shrugged. "You're my mate, mate."

"After what you did to Hermione?" Harry asked testily.

Ron shrugged again. "It was just the way it is. I didn't want to hurt her."

Harry snorted. "You did. And now you come here?"

"I'd like to stay for a while, if that's alright."

"We're fully booked."

"Harry?" the voice of Dotty was suddenly behind him and when he turned, he saw her balancing three plates full of breakfast. "Where do they go?"

"Corner table," he replied and smiled. She smiled back and walked off – her hips swaying a little more than usual – and he knew she did it for his benefit. She always did when he stood behind the counter and she was serving food.

"She's well fit," Ron almost drooled.

"What?"

"A real looker. Where did you find her?" Ron asked – as Dotty returned, he almost leered at her. "You still haven't told me your name."

"My, haven't you made progress since school," Harry replied angrily. "Took you five years or so to get together with Hermione," he continued – muttering.

Weasley grinned disgustingly and wriggled his eyebrows. "Hermione was difficult to ask out."

"And she won't be?" Harry asked.

"That girl there? No."

"Let's bet," Harry suggested. "If you get her to agree to going out with you within the next five minutes, you can stay here for the night. If you don't, you'll leave and won't come back."

"You want me to win, don't you?" Ron chuckled and put his elbows on the table. "Hey beautiful!" he called after Dotty.

"What?" Dotty spun around and glared. "Want more tea?"

"No – I was thinking more wine and dinner with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Harry, love, didn't you tell your _best mate_?" She walked towards Harry and even though they had never hugged before in front of customers, she stepped into his arms easily and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips. "Wine and dinner only with him."

"You – you – you're together?" Ron paled.

"Obviously," Harry grinned and pulled his girlfriend closer. "Now get."

xx

"Oh Severus!" Minerva stormed into his office. Damn him for returning there between brewing and forgetting the wards – just because he had thought – hoped – it would be Hermione.

"Headmistress," he drawled and gestured towards a chair. He found himself – too often lately – in the embrace of the headmistress – who hugged him so tight that he knew this would rival Molly Weasley's when it came to rib-cracking.

"Happy, happy birthday," she said softly against his chest. "I thought you'd be at breakfast but you weren't."

"I ate early," he replied coldly and disentangled her from him. The hug felt so different from Hermione's. He couldn't quite put his finger on it – couldn't quite point it out what was different – he only knew that Hermione was softer, gentler, more tentative, her hands on his back different – not claws but ten fingers that held him.

"I wanted to give you your present," she said a little stiffly, then, and he knew that she was probably a little embarrassed by the hug.

"Well, thank you, headmistress," he replied – quite, quite surprised.

Had Hermione told everyone about his birthday? No – he shouldn't think that. She was too sweet for that – she had realised what it meant to him that she had known – the cake, her gestures – the kiss on his well – supposedly cheek.

"How did you know?" he asked suspiciously.

"You are a teacher in my school, are you not?" she asked, shoving a wrapped thing into his hands. "Your birthday is on the records."

"Of course it is," he snarled – happy that she hadn't told anyone. Minerva had remembered, all by herself. Probably. Or she had put a charm on the damn list of her staff that reminded her of any birthday.

"So, I wanted to give you this. Will you unwrap it?"

"If I must," he replied grumpily and slowly, pulled the red and gold (who would have thought?) paper away. "A scarf. How – thoughtful."

"Yes, it's cold and since I'll be cheering for Slytherin during the next two games – even though one of those is against Gryffindor, I thought that you should wear a scarf in your house colours as well."

"I see. This is, erm..." the rest of his answer remained lodged in his throat. Hermione, panting, the messy bun which held her hair at the back of her head even in more disarray than it had been – stormed into his office.

"Profess...oh," her face fell ever so slightly when she saw the headmistress standing inside his office – the older woman's face – almost blank. Certainly not as appalled and surprised as it should have been.

"Miss Granger," he said – and was echoed by Minerva. "What brings you down here?"

"Erm, the final version, I think, of my paper," she said proudly and a roll of parchment was put on his desk. "I just finished it."

"Since I don't think foolish mixing of herbs in cauldrons is quite my thing, I shall take my leave," Minerva remarked – her face now full of that catlike grin she liked to wear. "Severus, Miss Granger."

"Headmistress," both of them said together and watched her leave the room.

"Erm, Professor Snape, I did come here because of the paper but also Harry owled me and said that he had important news and he asked if I could go down to the Head."

"You should have asked the headmistress that," he replied and did not know why he suddenly felt so cold. The temperature certainly hadn't changed – hadn't dropped – his shirt and coat were still in place – his trousers still on, his shoes laced – his socks, well, maybe those had been blown off. No – he wriggled his toes and could feel the fine fabric of his socks as well. Even Minerva's gift – an elf-made green and silvery scarf was still in his hands. He couldn't explain the sudden coldness.

"No," she laughed. "Well, yes, but no. Actually, I thought that, we could kill two Glumbumbles with one stone. No, that didn't sound right."

"Miss Granger, get to the point," he replied – mirroring the coldness he felt with his voice.

"I was just - I did write the paper and some applications today, but I also thought about a present for you and couldn't come up with anything – and then, I remembered that the one thing you totally dislike is when people fuss over you. Everyone knows that. It's no secret and Dizzy didn't tell me about it. So – I thought that instead of staying here for dinner and, with the headmistress obviously aware of your birthday – and effectively, the entire staff aware of it, I thought that we could go down to the Hog's Head together. I could listen to the news Harry has to share and then we could eat. Together. Away from the school. My treat. As a present," she rattled on quickly, blushing as she said the last two sentences.

"Pardon?"

"Well, I don't have to get Harry's news before the meal. I could listen to them afterwards. But I'm sure if we go down, we could get the backroom. Aberforth's here tonight, I checked. So it would just be Harry and his girlfriend. And they don't have to eat with us. Really. They probably even can't because the Head's always so stuffed these days. I – I just thought that..."

It wasn't cold any more. No – he had to put the scarf on the desk, had to clench the edge of said desk with his fingers because the wood provided some coldness.

"Please, Professor Snape? Would go allow me to pay for your birthday dinner at the Hog's Head?"

_**xx **_


	43. Chapter 43

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Severus Snape looked at Hermione, Granger, star-pupil of so many of his colleagues, heroine of the second half of the war against Voldemort, best friend of the boy-who-lived, Gryffindor know-it-all and his self-proclaimed friend. He hid his astonishment admirably, he knew. It was just his training, years of hiding every single feeling from everyone and in effect, almost forgetting how to feel – that stopped his mouth from dropping open, his eyes from bulging – his knees from shaking.

The last person that had invited him for dinner had been Albus. Back – back – back when his life had been half-way normal. Back then – before He had returned to corporal form. Albus hadn't taken him to the Hog's Head – no, instead they'd gone to Glasgow where Albus had insisted they watch football. Severus remembered the game – liked it, even, but in Glasgow – no, that had been too much for him – those watching even more enthusiastic than all the supporters of the Chudley Cannons together – tripled. And before the game – a team in blue and white jerseys and a team in yellow and green jerseys – battling like crazy down on the pitch – Albus had taken him for kidney pie. Afterwards, they had apparated away – just as the battle between the supporters had started – with fists and all kinds of muggle weapons. The last time someone had invited him for dinner – not that he could compare it.

No – Albus, in outrageous muggle clothing – didn't want to see the football game on his own and had dragged him along – with the meal a nice, added bonus.

Hermione – Hermione looked normal in muggle clothes – she was wearing them now – jeans and a jumper – a coat probably shrunk in her pocket and she had asked him because it was his birthday. Or – maybe because she feared Potter would give her bad news and needed – no – no that couldn't be. Did she want him to go with her because she was afraid that she got bad news and needed his shoulder to cry on? No, that thought was ridiculous.

But why was she asking then? Was it because she didn't want to go alone?

She had often, very often demonstrated that she could very well do things on her own, that she was independent. She knew she would get permission to go see Potter at the Hog's Head at any time. The headmistress was quite lenient towards her.

So, not wanting to go alone was probably not the reason.

Was she afraid of what Potter had to say? She couldn't be. And the idea with the bad news was ridiculous as well – simply because if it was serious – Potter would have come up to the castle himself. He was responsible like that.

And then there was the small matter of the cake and breakfast. They had talked amicably. She had made sure he got a birthday cake. And she had kissed him. All stone-cold facts.

What if – big if – she just really wanted to spend time with him?

No – that couldn't be it. Why would anyone want to spend time with him?

'She's been known to seek your company quite often lately,' the annoying voice had returned.

'Mh,' he grumbled back. 'And the reason why she is doing that is still quite hazy.'

'Is it?' the voice asked and if Severus had been asked to describe the kind of person that the annoying voice belong to, he'd say at this moment, it was a tiny, evil person, jumping up and down and pointing his finger at him. Fortunately – nobody knew about the annoying voice – fortunately, nobody asked him to describe it.

He sighed inwardly – and that, surprisingly shut the voice up.

Still – he had a decision to make – quite a simple one if one looked at the facts only.

The facts were: dinner with Hermione and probably a bit of Potter and his girlfriend (a squib – niece of Madam Rosmerta) but mainly Hermione and the brilliant cooking of the Hog's Head (and no, he didn't want to think about the fact that it might be prepared by Potter) or – dinner in the Great Hall, with Minerva, probably trying to talk to him – and Aberforth, making silly conversation. And the rest of the staff who would all insist on congratulating him. And yes, he did mind that – but only because nobody but Minerva (and Hermione – of course) had thought of it without help – without nudging from anyone. No, he didn't need those fake congratulations.

And Minerva would make him go up to the Hall if he was there. Or she would come later to look for him.

He didn't think of the fact that he might ward his doors and stay in his quarters. Nor did he think of the fact that he might just go out alone.

xx

"Professor Snape?" Hermione asked gently – astonished that he was sitting there so silently – so motionlessly when obviously his brain worked at high speed.

"Pardon?" he asked again.

"I was just, erm, wondering what you think?"

"About what?" he asked – and she had apparently managed to pull him completely out of his reverie or whatever it was.

"The Hog's Head? Now? Dinner. Food. Hungry," she smiled. "Birthday."

He breathed deeply – and had apparently found his answer. She pulled the sleeves of her jumper over her hands – and for the second time that day, crossed her fingers hard. She really wanted him to come, to go with her. Good food and a good talk – what could be better?

But he wouldn't. He would tell her to go alone – or not go at all. Well – she had plucked up all the courage she could and had at least asked him. And maybe, he would let her use his floo.

"I assume you have a coat with you?" he asked suddenly.

"Erm," she stuttered, "yes." She pulled her shrunk coat from the back pocket of her jeans and held it up.

"Alright," she said, getting up from his chair, "but I will not eat with Potter."

"Er, mh, no, of course not," she stammered and stared at him in disbelief as he pointed his wand at her coat and she had her regular-sized, perfectly warm coat in her hand.

"Put that on, then," he said stiffly, and, pulling on his robes as well, he ushered her towards the floo. "And step away immediately or I'll stumble over you."

She stared, open-mouthed when he basically pushed her into the fireplace and shoved a handful of floo powder in her hand. "I told Harry if we'd come, we'd come into the back room."

"Well? What are you waiting for?" he asked impatiently and she beamed – and vanished.

xx

Oh – what had he done now? Dinner with Hermione.

Oh Merlin – that almost sounded like a – dare he think it – date.

No – rubbish. It was just her trying to be nice on his birthday. That was it. Gryffindor niceness. He nodded to himself and followed her through the floo.

xx

"So, you really want to tell Hermione all those things about Ron? Even the brawl he almost started when he noticed someone was snapping pictures of us because you were clearly betraying Ginny?" Dotty asked, leaning next to him on the counter.

It was a quiet night – well, truth be told – he had made sure a lot of people were leaving - a nice-placed Confundus could do wonders. But he didn't really want to find out what Severus Snape – if he showed up – reacted like when he found out the Hog's Head was once more full of reporters. Especially if he was showing up with Hermione.

No, there was only a table full of guests and most of them had been – well – incapacitated. It was nice to know what a little drop of potion could do in a bit of firewhiskey. Or tea. Or pumpkin juice. Or gillywater.

"Yes, I have to tell her. It'll be in the papers anyway, or at least in the Prophet and I don't want her finding out that way. Besides, I think she should know that Ron's about to leave his wife and that Ginny will probably find out about it and you and me and will make it even more difficult for her," he replied evenly.

"Yes, but I mean, seriously, isn't Hermione more powerful than Ginny? And smarter? Why would she let Ginny trample all over her?"

"I don't think she does. But Hermione has learned to choose her fights – she will not start something with just about anyone and she will not fight until it is absolutely necessary. I think the war made Hermione quite a pacifist," Harry mused.

"Didn't it turn all of you into pacifists?" she asked back, gently.

Harry shrugged. "I suppose so. I don't know. I know that Hermione knows that most of the school did not believe her honest version of what happened with Ginny and the hex. Ginny – you know – she's still very respected in Hogwarts and especially in Gryffindor."

"So you're saying she doesn't care what people think about her?"

Harry shook his head. "Of course not. Hermione thinks more than you and me and the rest of the people in this room combined – but – I don't know."

Dotty straightened up and put a warm hand on his back – she was confused. Still. About all of this. So – she had fallen in love – quickly, too quickly – and was now helping him in the Head instead of her aunt in the Broomsticks. Not that her auntie needed her help – but she spend all her time questioning Harry, trying to find out about life in the Wizarding World, trying to find out about him but some, no, most of the things he told her were puzzling at best – incomprehensible at worst.

And yes, at first she had felt a little pang of jealously whenever Harry had spoken about Hermione. It had sounded so respectful always, so friendly, so loving, as if he felt more towards her than friendship. But after a while, she had found out that he spoke about most people he liked this way – and Hermione, when all was said and done, seemed to hold a special place in his heart after all. As a friend. She understood that. Or at least tried to.

Nevertheless, she heaved a sigh of relief when Hermione had owled back (honestly, owls were the first thing she got used to – even though she thought she might still prefer telephones – or texting – only her mobile did not work in Hogsmeade) and mentioned that she'd try to bring that Professor with her – since it was his birthday.

And when Harry had grinned almost sleazily, she knew that he didn't quite feel that way about Hermione – and if that hadn't convinced her, the kiss he had given her when she had helped him spiking the drinks of the patrons, had fully done just that.

Still – she couldn't help to sometimes think that Harry would get annoyed by her endless questioning, by her endless not-knowing. And so she read – she asked her auntie – she asked Aberforth. She asked everyone. And she would – if she got the chance – ask Hermione and the Professor.

Just because Harry was so different from any guy she had known before – because he spoke so kindly, so lovingly, so respectful of most every person he knew (even though – there were a few that he always ranted about. Balfoi or something like that. And of course that not-so-handsome Weasley who had chatted her up – and had spoken ill of him eventually, and he only rarely spoke of his ex) and because he never hesitated to give her a hug.

He was truly something to hold on to. Even if she had only known him for such a short time.

xx

"I think there's someone in the back room. Hermione's arrived, I suppose," Harry said gently and looked at his girlfriend. "Want to go check?"

"Can we leave them like this?" she asked, gesturing towards the drugged customers.

Harry nodded. "They won't wake up," he grinned. "I got the potion recipe from Snape. And he knows what he's doing."

Dotty shook her head and Harry could see that she was confused again. It was adorable, really. All the things he took for granted these days – were puzzling for her – and he could relate. He had, after all, felt the same way when he had first come to the Wizarding World. And she was so cute when she was puzzled. Her nose crinkled, her eyes squinting and her mouth ever so slightly pouting.

"Well, no," he explained, "I asked him about a potion that would rid me of some of the guests without actually driving them away and he said to check in Moste Potente Potions. That's like the standard-potions-recipe book. So I did and found this potion and brewed it. I just hope it turned out alright. Otherwise I might have killed all of them."

Dotty grinned and took his hand. "I don't think they look dead. But you might want to ask the Professor," she gestured for him to look into the back room – and true enough – Hermione, having stepped away from the fireplace had turned and smiled at Snape – who was just coming out of it – his face – a blank mask, almost no soot on his robes.

"Oh my," Harry said softly and pulled Dotty into the back room. "Happy birthday, Professor Snape."

"Potter," Snape acknowledged and nodded shortly.

"Professor Snape, I'm Dorothy Rothaus. I don't think we've met properly," Dotty began and stepped towards him, her hand proffered for him to take. He did – to Harry's surprise, and she smiled. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you, Miss Rothaus," he replied calmly.

"Harry, what's the news?" Hermione asked impatiently and pushed past Snape (brushing against his back and side with her arm – Harry noted). "What happened?"

"Ron happened," Dotty replied for him, having turned from Snape again. "He was here."

"Erm, what?" Hermione asked, her face puzzled. "And why would I care?"

"Miss Rothaus, you are the niece of Madam Rosmerta, are you not?" Snape asked – knowing it was better for Harry to speak to Hermione alone – though why he knew that – Harry didn't know.

"Yes," Dotty replied immediately, even though he could see that she really wanted to talk to Hermione.

"And by your last name, I suppose she's your father's sister?" he continued the conversation and Harry, feeling safe, turned to Hermione.

"Hermione, I think you should hear it from me and not from Ginny or the Prophet."

"What, Harry, what?"

"He came here, wanting to stay for the night because apparently, his marriage is not so successful.

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked curiously. "Has he cheated on her too?"

"It seems rather the other way round," he replied instantly.

xx

"Are you saying that Gabrilelle Delacour, the child, cheated on him? What's the world coming to?" Hermione stared at Harry – not angry – confused and bemused.

"He said that she said – in a fight, mind – that the child wasn't his."

"So she really is pregnant? That far along?"

"Seems so," Harry shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about," she said angrily. "I'm through with Ron. He's not worth anything. He cheated on me, Harry. He decided to bed a sixteen-year old and knock her up. I didn't get pregnant. I am not pregnant. I didn't have sex with anyone. I didn't get married. It's all his doing. And I'm not sorry it's over because apparently, he's too dumb to cast a simple contraceptive charm. And she's too dumb to take a bloody potion that you can get in any apothecary for very little money. You don't have to be sorry about anything. No, I hope his marriage fails. I do. I hope that the entire Wizarding World will realise what kind of person he is. But I don't care. I know who he is, I know what he did and I didn't come here to listen to you explaining why Ron's a prat. He is. Can we leave it at that?"

"Hermione, don't start on me, please. I just wanted to let you know that he was here, and that saw me with Dotty and he will tell Ginny, so be prepared."

"The word's still on her forehead. It's going to take a while to fade," she said angrily. "And I can stand my ground against Ginny. She's a spoilt, little girl and after Abe's and Minerva's party, I don't doubt that the Weasleys still like me and that's what's important for me. They care for me, and you do, and Severus does."

xx

"They care for me, and you do, and Severus does," she said and poked Potter in the chest. "And I care for them and you and Severus," she continued and Severus completely forgot about the conversation he held with Miss Rothaus. Severus? Had she just referred to him as Severus? And had she just said that he cared for her? And she for him?

Wait – that couldn't be right – must be another Severus. But there wasn't one he knew off – and he was certain that she would have told him if there was one. She had told him so much about her life. And she had decided – just like that, that she cared for him? And he cared for her?

What a ridiculous assumption.

Well – maybe not so ridiculous. But ridiculous enough.

'Stop deceiving yourself,' the voice in his head muttered and he nodded to himself.

"Miss Rothaus, Potter, Miss Granger, I was lured here with the promise of food. Will there be food?" he asked loudly and knew in that moment, that Hermione had realised that he had heard her. She blushed brilliantly and a second later, when he stopped looking at her – Potter and his girl were gone.

"I'm sorry," she muttered and walked towards him. "I didn't mean to say that out loud. I didn't mean to be so disrespectful and use your first name."

He nodded. "Don't say it to just anyone again, Hermione."

_**xx**_


	44. Chapter 44

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

The look he gave her when he said those words was one that she would never, ever forget. It was so intense, so deep that she knew he couldn't use Legilimency. He might just be but somewhere on a deeper level, she knew he didn't – not when he was looking at her like this. There was concentration in his look – but not awkward, not searching but content and happy. His eyes looked the way they did when he had smiled. The same quality to the dark, dark eyes – mesmerising, really.

She looked back and somehow, he seemed to get closer to her, moving towards her – but that wasn't possible, was it? He always kept his distance, she was the one who usually stepped closer to him, she who had initiated all sort of contact before – so, no, he was not stepping closer and the reason why he suddenly stood just in front of her was probably because she had, subconsciously, moved towards him.

He had just allowed her to call him by his given name. That was it.

And he had used hers. Hermione. Had said Hermione. Not Hermione Granger, not Miss Granger – Hermione.

She still stood just in front of him and she reached out, she could have easily taken his hands – or put her hands on his chest – or could have hugged him. But why should she?

She smiled – hearing her name coming out of his mouth again and again in her head. Hermione. Even with his raspy voice – and not the silk he had always used before the near-kill by the snake – it sounded different than she had ever heard it before.

And that, that confused her. His voice, so unlike the one he had known through the years at school, pronounced it just the right way – just the way it was supposed to be pronounced and yet there was something different.

She still stared into his dark eyes – the darkest brown, really, not black – just as dark a brown as those cocoa slivers had been, no, darker. And Hermione tried to read them but to no avail – they were not the dark tunnels they had been before the fall of Voldemort but neither did they give anything away.

"So what about that food?" he asked suddenly – his voice different - and she finally managed to draw her eyes away from his.

Hermione nodded. "I'll tell Harry or Dotty to bring it."

xx

He looked after her as she scuttled out of the room. His right hand clutched at his chest subconsciously. He had just stared at her for probably minutes. Her eyes were so expressive – so clearly showing her confusion.

'And yours is gone, I hope,' the voice returned.

'It is,' he replied, 'but it can't be, can it?'

'You admitting you have a heart and might just fall for this girl? It can be.'

Severus shook his head. 'It mustn't be.'

The voice chuckled – a strange sound in his head. 'It will be.'

He pulled the hand away from his chest – and growled, 'Sibyll,' just before Hermione returned.

Hermione – he had just allowed her to call him by his given name – not the smartest move. It would – undoubtedly – create an intimacy with which he would not be comfortable. Especially since – oh well – the voice in his head might just be right this time. Not that it changed anything. Not at all.

She would leave school – and she seemed determined to go to a Wizarding University. Even if he disliked it. Though – if he could trust this sudden feeling – or maybe the realisation of the feeling – liking her – liking her a lot – she should leave. And he had to take back the offer of teaching her. Besides, he shouldn't spend time with her. Not alone like this.

"Food's coming in a moment and Harry asks if you could look at a potion he brewed," Hermione said happily and sat down at the table.

"What potion?" he asked irritated.

Hermione shrugged. "He said you'd know. But I think he poisoned all of the patrons sitting out there."

"Reporters, you mean," he said – surprised that his voice sounded so cold again. So he could really get a grip on himself – he hadn't lost the ability.

She would never know. She must never know.

Friends – she wanted to be friends. And he could do that – until she left school. And he would. Even if he had to force every teacher to write a brilliant letter of recommendation. And he would not talk about his offer any more. No – he would not do that – he would help her get into University – on the continent, maybe – far away.

But – he needed to continue the way they had started – friends. He had to. If he didn't – well, she would probably demand answers from him. And those, he couldn't give. Wouldn't give. Shouldn't give. How could he explain that at one minute he had called her Hermione and the next, he was pushing her away? He couldn't very well tell her that it was because he was – was – probably, maybe, perhaps, not able to give an answer. Because – he had never trusted his feelings. He didn't now.

And he didn't trust the voice in his head.

"I'll go and see," he snarled and even though he had already put his robes over a chair, he tried to make his exit as dramatic, as much as his usual exits or entrances at school. Just to not give her the wrong idea.

'Coward,' the voice spat.

'Shut up,' he spat back and almost ran into the girl who balanced two tables full of roast beef.

"Sorry," she smiled. "Why are you out here?"

"Potter messed up a potion, I see," he gestured towards the guests drooling in their sleep.

"I wouldn't know but trust me, I'm enjoying it," she laughed. "Gives me the chance to finally eat in peace with Harry."

"And where is he?" Severus asked – and his voice, with the rasp – could freeze everything over.

"Kitchen," she still smiled. "And don't be late, I can't cast Warming Hexes."

"Spells," he muttered and pushed the door to the kitchen open.

"Oh, Professor Snape, I thought Dotty just brought you the food," he turned around quickly and wiped his hands on a towel.

"She did but Miss Granger explained that you might just have killed all those people out there."

"Well, they are still breathing," Harry chuckled.

"I see you haven't learned a lot in the art of Potions since you left school," he sneered.

"No, no I can't say I have," Harry laughed and opened a drawer and pulled a vial from it. "That's the rest of it. It has the colour it should be, so I'm quite confident it did actually work and they'll all be very well rested tomorrow in the morning."

He handed him the vial with a flourish of his hand and smirked confidently.

Severus opened the stopper and sniffed. Smelled as it should at least. He put a tiny drop on his fingertip and his tongue darted out. "Adequate. I believe you've only killed half of those out there," he said dangerously.

"Fine," Harry grinned and as Severus wanted to leave – a hand on his sleeve held him back.

"What?" he snarled.

"Professor, I know it's not really my place to say but Hermione likes you a lot."

"I heard," Severus commented and was about to pull his sleeve away but once more, was held back and Potter looked at him with something akin to conviction.

"It's more than she says. I know Hermione, Professor, and I know when she has something right in front of her eyes and doesn't notice what it is. It doesn't happen to her often, believe me, she knows more things just before anyone does, and she observes and notices and sees but sometimes, she just doesn't."

"Are you done lecturing?"

He shook his head. "Not quite. She doesn't go after something that is not worth it. And I know, she's told me, that she really wants a, what did she say?, friendship with you."

Severus rolled his eyes, "And?"

"And nothing. I'm just saying that she is a great friend. And the way I see it, she doesn't have a lot of them left," he replied pensively. "She never had many to begin with – she's not the friend-making type and I'm not sure how this between you ever started but I can tell she likes you and she wants to be your friend."

"Is that all now?" he asked back testily.

"One more thing," he said, his voice getting gentler, "please don't push her away. I know she can be annoying but she means well and she's been hurt so many times lately and even though she never says so and will never do so, probably, but it's not so much the break-up with Ron that hurt her but rather the knowledge that she lost a friend – and she was so afraid that the rest of the Weasleys wouldn't like her any more. Then the thing with her parents – it's all getting a lot for her even though she tries to be strong, and she is, she really is but all of this would wear anyone down. She told me that she found a little peace when you let her brew..."

"She told you that?" he seethed.

"Don't worry," Harry replied, "I will not tell anyone. And she only told me because she feared that you wouldn't let her do it again. Listen, Professor, she needs this peace. She always found them in books but I'm not sure she still does that – at least not to the extent that she needs it."

Severus stared at him – he understood. Yes, she had always compensated with the help of books – and her friends – now her friends were either away or non-existent any more and he and his lab had taken the place of what relaxed her. "Done?"

"Yes," Harry nodded and he turned, feigning annoyance, and heard him, "Don't hurt her," call after him.

No, he would try not to hurt her – but he was Severus Snape after all – he always hurt people whether he wanted to (most of the time) or not (had not happened very often yet) and she would get hurt. And he would get hurt.

But he could handle his pain – he could not handle hers.

xx

"And?" she asked, her elbows on the table, smiling brightly, waiting for him to start eating, "Did he kill someone?"

"I certainly hope not," he growled and sat down. "Can we eat?"

"Sure," she replied and frowned. His mood certainly had changed but then again, hers hadn't been so good either before he had said her name.

She ate slowly and was a tiny bit disappointed that he focused solely on the food.

"Harry's a great cook, isn't he?" she asked suddenly, half-way through the meal.

"Fine," he growled back. "Didn't know he had it in him."

"Are you feeling quite alright?" she asked and looked at him.

"Yes," he replied sharply.

"Okay," she nodded.

"Alright," he said and concentrated on his food again.

It was odd – really odd – since they never had trouble talking. And now it had started? Nothing really had changed, had it? Well – she had admitted that she liked him but so what? She had said before that she wanted to be friends with him and nothing had changed then. But she had been forward – and he hadn't even minded.

So – she needed to make conversation. Something that he could talk about. Something. Something.

"When do you think we can go to my parents? If you still want to go, that is."

xx

He knew that he should not be so silent – but so many things were going through his head – and he couldn't bear to look at her. No – no, the voice would just tell him again that he had inappropriate feelings for her. And maybe the bloody voice was right. Still – still.

This was exactly what Potter had asked him not to do – and for once, it seemed right what he had said. She should find her peace – find a kind of balance. And if he was the one who had it in his power – well, then so be it. If she needed the peace she found in the dungeons – if she needed him to rant on – he would. And then, send her away. She would make new friends at University. Simple as that.

A question about her parents pulled him out of his thoughts quite suddenly.

"When?" he asked to confirm.

"Yes, And I asked – implied – whether you'd still go with me," she smiled and it was beaming. Her teeth weren't large any more and whiter than his – no surprise – and her lips – oh no. Not thinking about her lips again.

"I don't think we should rush it," he replied and wanted to add a Hermione at the end. Her first name sounded better than Miss Granger.

"What do you mean, rush it? I want to fix this," she replied – and her face got a little more colour.

"No, it's been only about two weeks since you brought them back."

"I didn't bring them back," she interrupted, "and it's been longer than that."

"No you didn't bring them back. But they are back and they should probably adjust back to their lives."

"What does that mean? Do I wait until Easter? Or the end of the school year? I miss my parents, Professor Snape, I miss my mother and I miss my father and if I don't fix this, I will never get them back," she replied angrily.

"You will get them back," he said softly, "but you shouldn't rush anything. Especially not when it concerns relations between humans. Hermione," there, he said it, "they will need more than two and a half weeks to find their way back."

She looked at him again and her smile reappeared. "But..."

He shook his head. "I don't think there's a but. If you want me to accompany you, you will have to wait at least another four weeks."

Hermione sighed. "Do you think I could write them?"

"It's probably a good idea," he replied in earnest and was almost tempted to smile. Almost. Not quite. So he didn't.

"Oh, my paper," she blushed slightly, "it wasn't a lie when I said that I had finished the final draft. Would you like to read it?"

He nodded – and to his surprise (or maybe not – no, no surprise) she pulled a shrunken roll of parchment from the pocket of her coat. "Here," she smiled and handed it to him. "There. I don't expect it to be perfect but it's as good as I can make it on my own. I'd very much appreciated it if could read through it..."

"That's what I'm trying to do," he snarled and shot her a look.

"Oh, now?" she asked quietly but by then, he had pushed his plate aside and started reading.

xx

She had wanted to make him smile. And she had failed. Clear, obvious defeat. No, she had made the mistake of giving him the paper and he had read it – had even summoned a quill and an inkwell from God knew where, and had made notes in the margins (she probably wouldn't recognise her paper when he was done with it). While she sat there. About a quarter through the article, he had rolled it together, had said a gruff good bye to Harry and Dotty (who had sat, holding hands, at a table together) and had shoved her – less than gentle in the fireplace and had ushered her out of his office.

She, of course, had sighed, and had picked herself up – and had just gone to bed, ignoring Ginny who was still up with some Gryffindor girls and had pulled the blanket over her head. No, his birthday dinner had not gone as planned.

Still, just before she fell asleep, she remembered him saying her name – and that, when all was said and done – made her smile and the 'Good night, Hermione," rang in her ears.

xx

She was – in short – brilliant. He most certainly could not have written it better. Quite on the contrary – she had a way with words that he didn't possess. She had written the quite boring and at the same time, disgusting process of boiling a live toad the way that he knew every Potioneer who would read her article (and he would make sure she was published) would try it immediately. It was compelling, concise, clear, captivating. Written so that even Potter would grasp the concept of what she wrote about without overly simplifying it. Well, Potter would grasp the concept but he would not be able to brew it. Actually, none would – since she had left out the tiny bit of Agave they had added just after the toad. And this wasn't meant to be a recipe after all. Just a scientific paper. And a very good one at that. Better than good.

He sighed – yes, he had accioed a quill and inkwell but had only corrected minor things – and mainly had made notes in the margins. She would not get that copy back – or he would have to vanish his margin-writing before he gave it back. It wasn't that she had written anything that they had not done – but her writing had given him some ideas.

No – this was perfect as it was.

He pulled a copy-quill from his desk-drawer and put it next to the parchment. It would do its job overnight, making about 5 copies (one for every potions magazine in the country) so he could owl them in the morning before he warded the door and pulled the third book on the fifth shelf from the right back and the door to his private quarters appeared. He appreciated the muggle-spy-film-quality of the entrance to his rooms but then again, he also had to tap his wand against the door three times and only then, it would open.

Dizzy had prepared his rooms – the fire was burning brightly, and there was a steaming cup of tea on the table next to his favourite chair and happily, he sunk into that.

Severus unlaced his boots and shrugged a little awkwardly (since he was already sitting) out of his robes and coat and leaned back.

Hermione.

Damn it all. He couldn't be really developing feeling for this woman, could he? She was so young.

'Not innocent,' the voice piped up.

"No," he said loudly, "not innocent."

But still – he knew that being with her, even the idea of being with her, was completely out of the question.

Being friends with her was socially at least a little acceptable – something more – no. It could never be.

Her – the heroine of the Light and him – the brooding, evil Death Eater from the Dark side. No – he shook his head.

He had once before dealt with those feelings – and once before, he had just managed and had not said anything. Only this time – he would act differently. He would not push her away – he would keep her safe – safe and sound and healthy – and he knew he could only achieve that by staying close. By being a friend. No matter what it would do to him.

He could hide feelings, he could push them back. And he would – just like that.

_**xx**_


	45. Chapter 45

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**Thanks again to tatjana88 for letting me pick her brain!**_

_**xx**_

No, he wasn't angry with her, and no, he did not really push her away again – and after three weeks, she knew they had reached a comfortable (comfortable for both of them, she hoped) routine. On Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays, she went to the dungeons after dinner. Sometimes, they brewed together, sometimes, he had Dizzy bring tea and they would either sit in silence – or discuss potions, or another theory Hermione and Severus had both read in a magazine or book. She was, to be honest, most comfortable with the silence, when he just sat and read, or seemed to quietly think about one thing or another.

Funnily enough, he never talked to her about the paper she had written – even though she had expected a full dressing down a day after his birthday. It never came. And after the deadly glare she had received after she asked him about for the first – and incidentally last time – she learned not to push him, not to be too curious, not to press upon the matter. So, she slowly learned to hold her tongue, even though it took a great deal of effort on her part. Still – she was curious. Very curious.

Hermione didn't read the Daily Prophet either. If she had, she would have realised that she had been briefly, once more, the object of a journalistic witch-hunt because of an interview Ginny Weasley had granted the paper.

But as it was – yesterday's Prophet was used to wrap fish and chips in – and Ginny Weasley's interview forgotten – especially since Harry Potter – good friend that he was – made sure to have talked to Mister Lovegood – who had written a lengthy article about his failed relationship with Miss Weasley (nobody's fault, according to Harry – just love lost), and his new relationship to the mysterious woman who helped out in the Hog's Head, the fact that Harry Potter had not attended Ronald Weasley's wedding but only due to organizational problems, not due to lack of enthusiasm or lack of wanting to attend. The readers of the Quibbler also learned that Hermione Granger was quietly finishing her education and had nothing to do with the break-up between Mister Potter and Miss Weasley – and wished all the best to Ronald Weasley and Gabrielle Weasley.

The Daily Prophet had then quickly picked up on that story – and had tried its hardest to get an interview with either Potter – or any of the Weasleys or anyone else that had been close, or was still close to the Golden Trio – but none had been granted. All, that was, except Ginevra and Ronald Weasley.

But since Ronald Weasley – after not showing up to a weekful of training sessions – and after being dismissed by the manager had not only lost his place on the team – but also his former home (Gabrielle would not leave), he had gone back to the Burrow. And Molly and Arthur had threatened him - and he was not allowed to give any interviews.

And since Ginevra wasn't believed as much as the saviour of the boy-who-lived, the Daily Prophet was not keen on conducting another interview with her.

But of course, Hermione did not know that. She kept away from all news – she kept away from all human contact apart from Harry and Severus – and occasionally she talked to other teachers – especially Minerva and, because they were a package lately, Aberforth.

She had realised, better late than never, that she did need that quiet time. It had been Severus's words that had done it when he had spoken about her parents. They needed time to settle back in – and so did she. She had rushed, she knew that now, into going back to Hogwarts and she had rushed into the relationship with Ronald. She had rushed as if she was missing something if she didn't.

But now – those three weeks were utter bliss. She studied hard – she learned a lot from Severus and she learned to trust him even more.

If she was hurting – because of anything, really – she sought his company and was soothed. But she never told him that.

And yet, she had difficulties in addressing him. Most of the time, she merely avoided addressing him directly. He, however, continued to call her Hermione. At least when she showed up in his lab on Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays. And sometimes on Wednesday and Saturday and Sunday as well.

In class however, she was strictly Miss Granger – and he even took points off of her. True, she had made a mess of her potion – but only because Luna had distracted her by shouts of 'Solemnisies, Solemnisies.'

It had not been funny – but at least their cauldron had not melted.

No, he wasn't angry at her – and he let her brew the potion again that night in the lab. Without her having to ask for it.

xx

He had not anticipated that she would develop a routine and would come to see him at least three nights a week privately, mostly more often. He knew she was healing – that this was her way of doing it, spending time with him – as odd as that sounded to his own ears.

And truth be told – he didn't mind her being there. Not at all. He even admitted to himself to liking those moments when she quietly sat close by and sipped her tea – or talked animatedly about one thing or another, or when she stood so close and helped him brew – or brewed herself. He relished in the quietness he could have with her. Yes, she did ask infernal questions, yes, she did talk too much on occasion but she had learned, probably, during the war to hold her tongue, to be quiet when the situation called for it.

And then – he suspected that she needed, wanted, craved the quietness herself. Sometimes, she wore that haunted look on her face when she came to him – and he knew that she was hurting, that a memory had resurfaced, or that someone had gotten to her, or that she was thinking about her parents.

He left her in peace in those times – he let her do what she wanted to do and he did what he had been doing. On one or two occasions he had even entertained the thought to bring her to his quarters, in his living room, to the comfortable chairs there – but he never dared. Something always held him back – though, the annoying voice in his head did encourage him.

She was – he could admit that to the voice in his head – beautiful when she brewed or read. But he would never tell anyone else that.

Nor – as he learned more about her, what she liked and disliked (a stupid, and in his opinion absolutely horrid liking for Brussels sprouts), what kind of books she preferred, what kind of weather made her hair turn frizzier and what kind of weather made it less bushy, did he ever tell her anything about himself.

Only once had he let something slip. Only once during those three weeks since his birthday and the few months since they had started to become friends. He had told her that he liked playing Gobstones, not that he had mentioned that it was the one thing he remembered fondly about his mother. And that was it. She never commented, she didn't bring him a set to play (something he had half expected but hoped it didn't happen since he still owned his mother's set), she had just smiled.

Also, there was no physical contact whatsoever between them and he was glad for it. It made it simpler and by the end of those three weeks since his birthday, he had almost convinced himself (though not the voice in his head) that he felt nothing for her but friendship.

xx

"Mum!" Ronald Weasley shouted from his room – back at the Burrow down the staircase and waited for an answer in his boxers and an overly large orange Cannon-shirt (he was not playing for the Kestrels any more – so no need for loyalty).

"What?" Molly shrieked.

"Is lunch ready?"

"Why don't you come down here and look?" Molly huffed loudly and a second later, her son came stomping down the stairs – his hair ruffled, slight stubble on his cheeks.

And Molly had just about enough. For almost three weeks the boy sat here at home, and did nothing. Didn't even degnome the garden. Didn't lift one finger – except going out at night. And that he did – every night and returned late – or early, depending on the definition. Some time, Molly was even up when he came home. And then – slept all day long. Or almost so.

"Sit down," she said angrily. "Your father will be here soon. Do you know what time it is?"

"No," he replied tiredly and lay his head on the table. "But can I get some food in the meantime?"

"It's six. Six. In the evening. Lunch was about five and a half hours ago. Dinner will be in an hour."

"Tea?"

"You'll wait for your father. We need to talk to you," she said angrily.

"What've I done?" he asked and lolled deeper into his chair.

Molly shook her head and busied herself with the food on the cooker. This needed to be addressed – she had talked to Arthur and Arthur had agreed. And together, they would talk to their son. About responsibility and what he had to do.

xx

"You should get your coat or some robes," Severus Snape said as soon as Hermione got into his lab. He knew it was the right time. It was Friday night, he knew from Potter that the Grangers were at home and that they were, more or less willing to see their daughter and he was ready. Ready for what – he didn't know. But he would go with her. Would be at her side. No matter what.

"I have my robes here," she replied startled. "Are we going somewhere?"

He nodded and pointed at his door. "We'll apparate. You have your license?"

She nodded. "And where are we going?"

"I don't think surprises are in order once more, so I should inform you that we are going to your parents," he replied smoothly and held the door to his office open.

"But...we can't go," she stuttered, "I'm not prepared."

"It's no test, Hermione," he said softly, closing the door again. It wouldn't do to be overheard when he said her first name. "They're your parents."

"But they threw me out," she looked pale.

"And you wanted to see them. No backing out," he said sternly and looked into her eyes – they showed her – fear. Fear of rejection.

"But you'll stay there with me?"

He nodded quickly. "I will. Now come on before..."

"Alright," she interrupted and opened the door for him. "Apparating, you say?"

xx

"Now?" Ron asked impatiently, getting hungrier by the minute – especially since Molly's food smelled as good as it always did.

Arthur had just come home, had kissed his wife softly on the cheek, had squeezed her bottom when Ron wasn't looking and after shedding his robes and sitting down on the table, opposite his son, he had waited for Molly to be ready and take her seat next to him.

She did, put a cup of tea in front of him and gave him a kind smile before she stared sternly at Ron.

"What?" he asked irritably when both his parents glares met him.

"What are your plans for the future?" Arthur asked.

"Finding another team," Ron replied evenly.

"And if that fails?" Arthur asked again, his voice calm but he knew his wife – and the way her hand clenched on his thigh – the way her fingers dug in – he awaited the explosion. In three – two – one...

"Are you completely insane?" she began, her voice high and screechy, "And you will want to wait here until a manager comes knocking on the door? And in the meantime you'll do what? Don't you think I have a nose? Don't you think I don't smell when you were in bed with a woman? And another perfume every night? I wash your clothes, Ronald Weasley and I have eyes and a nose. You have a wife! That wife expects a child and it's your child and you tell us you had a fight, come here and sleep all day long and are out all night. I will not stand for that!"

"Molly," Arthur tried to soothe her but the hand he put on hers was pushed away roughly and she stood up, leaned over the table and loomed over her son.

"Listen very closely, Ronald Weasley. You either have a job within the next 48 hours or you're out of here and back to your wife," she said menacingly.

"Dad?" Ron had paled and looked helplessly at his father.

Trouble was – Arthur agreed completely with his wife. They had talked about this. Ron – the success had messed with his head and this couldn't go on. Every single Weasley was known for his hard work – for being poor but kind. Ginny – she was ambitious and that ambition had led her to the wrong path – but she would find her way back. Ronald, however, he was merely arrogant at the moment and overestimated his own capabilities. He had made the big mistake of letting Hermione go. That girl would have kept him on the ground – and now – now he was flying up there somewhere and he and his wife did not see another possibility than an ultimatum.

"I agree with your mother," he said gently. "You need to be doing something."

"It's not even three weeks," Ron whined.

"And how long are you married? Five? Five and a half? And your marriage is over. Do you know how long your father and me are married?" Molly squealed. "Do you?"

Ron breathed deeply and stood up and left wordlessly.

"Molly?" Arthur said softly and pulled his wife on his lap.

"He can't go on like that," Molly said and snuggled up to him. "This is not how we brought him up, was it?"

He rubbed his hand over her thigh and leaned his head against her chest. "No, but we're doing the right thing."

"But...we're throwing him out. He will not find a job," she mumbled, "and I don't know if it's right."

"This is my Mollywobbles," he smiled, "first yelling, then remembering that she loves her babies more than anything."

"I do, Arthur."

"I know you do but it'll be alright. He'll come around and will get a decent job," he whispered and carded his fingers in her hair – pulling her down. He kissed her softly on the lips, knowing this relaxed her. And took her mind off things.

xx

Her trembling hands was the first thing Severus noticed when he had apparated next to her and had landed in front of the Granger's house.

His eyes widened a little and he focused on her hands. It wasn't terribly noticeable but there nevertheless.

Without thinking, he took her right hand in his and looked in her eyes. "Is that it? Are the tremors, the aftershocks coming back?" he asked – and his voice, he noticed, was not cold. On the contrary. One might (the annoying voice, for instance) describe it as almost – concerned.

"What do you mean?" she asked a little tiredly – weakly.

"Tremors, Hermione," he pointed at her left hand, still hanging almost limply by her side. "Your hands are shaking."

She let out a tiny laugh. "No. I'm just nervous," she replied gently and smiled. "It's alright. No aftershocks."

"Oh," he replied and internally, he slapped his hand on his forehead. Of course she was. How could he have been so stupid? Taking her nervousness for tremors, trembling in her hands. Of course she was nervous. Stupid him. He let her hand fall from his at once. He shouldn't have taken it in the first place. "Of course. Shall we proceed?"

She nodded and smiled at him. "Thanks for being so concerned about me," she whispered and, breathing deeply, took the first step towards the home she had spend her childhood in. "This won't go well," she muttered but since he walked closely behind her, he heard perfectly.

'Reassure her, twit,' the voice in his head shouted at him.

'I will do no such thing,' he snarled back but at the same time, he almost – almost – lifted his hand and put it at the small of her back but at the last moment, he pulled back. This would not do.

'You idiot!' the voice yelled and he merely arched an eyebrow.

xx

She rang the doorbell – and hoped fervently that, despite the lights on inside, and the car in front of the garage, her parents were not in. She was not prepared. She didn't know what to say – didn't know how to apologise. Yes, she had waited for that moment for a long time – she had wanted to fix it, to get a good relationship with her parents again – but for that, she needed to be prepared, would have needed to practise in front of her mirror. And Severus had just shoved her there.

She was angry at him – and at the same time, she wasn't. Not at all. At the same time, her chest had felt quite constricted when he had taken her hand – and had asked, so concernedly, so caring, if she was alright. If she was suffering.

That was almost – cute. No, definitely not cute. He would put parts of her into his next potion if she ever called him cute. Maybe he would agree with sweet. That was it – definitely sweet.

She looked over her shoulder and in his eyes – reassurance. He was right there behind her. He would not leave her alone there. He would have her back. Support her. She knew.

"Hi dad," she said softly when her father opened the door and the look of surprise on Nigel Granger's face was indisputable.

"Mister Granger," Severus behind her said and her father stepped aside immediately.

"Do come in. Your mother's in the living room," he replied evenly.

"Thanks," Hermione couldn't think of anything better to say and she rushed into the living room, even though she heard Severus greeting her father again, and probably shaking hands. She didn't care at the moment. She needed to go to her mother.

"Mum!" she cried and hurried to her – sitting on the couch.

"Hermione," the older woman replied – surprise written all over her face as well.

"I'm so sorry, I really am. I mean I didn't want all this. I really didn't. If I had known a better way, I would have done it. Please, mum, please just forgive me."

Celia Granger took a deep breath. "Hermione what you did was irresponsible and..."

"Excuse my interruption, Missus Granger," Hermione looked up and Severus stood there with her father and he – oh – at that moment he looked almost like a dark, very dark, guardian angel. The one to save her.

xx

Ron thought long and hard – for his standards. There was one solution for his problem. He had absolutely no doubt that his parents would go through with their threat to have him thrown out of the Burrow if he continued to do nothing. But finding a job, much less a good position on a respectable quidditch team was out, was very slim – no, non-existent. So – there was only one place he could go.

One place where they would have to take him. Where he could stay – and wait for the offers to roll in without anyone really bugging him. Granted, he would have to do something there as well – but it couldn't be that bad.

And as an added bonus, Hermione wasn't far away. And yes, basically having to end it with her had brought him into this mess. So getting back together with her would get him out again.

Close to Hermione – and something which his parents would accept as 'doing something'. It was just perfect.

He smirked and packed his trunk.

xx

"If your daughter hadn't acted the way she did, I'm afraid neither of you would be alive today," he continued bluntly. "The Death Eaters, you-know-who's organisation had you on top of their list."

"What? How do you know?" Missus Granger asked.

"I was a spy, Missus Granger," he replied smoothly. "I knew about their plans."

"You could have warned us," she replied coldly. "And not just let her forget all about her and the memories with her and everything."

"I was in no position to do so," he replied – almost apologetically. "And I do not believe that someone would have believed me back then," he added quietly.

Hermione looked up at him – tears clinging to her lashes and stood up. "I'm so sorry," she whispered and took his right hand in hers – much as he had done earlier. "We should have never..."

"There is no need for that," he replied gently and squeezed her hands. "It was the way it was."

She sobbed once and nodded. "Still..."

He shook his head. He didn't want this. Not in her parents house. Not with her. He couldn't talk about it.

'Focus, twit,' the annoying voice nudged and he knew he had to listen to it.

"So your daughter had no other choice."

"Are you saying if she hadn't sent us away, hadn't altered our memories, we would be..." her father had paled significantly and stared alternately at Severus, Hermione and his wife.

"Yes," Severus nodded. "Dead."

"But..."

"You should believe her," he added softly. "She only wanted to protect you. It's a streak she has."

"What is?" Hermione spun around and stared at him again.

"Protecting those you love. And care for," he told her.

She nodded and wiped her tear away. "Mum, dad, please just – I don't expect us to become the way we once were but...can't we just, I don't know, talk?"

Celia Granger cleared her throat – shocked, apparently. "Hermione," she began and exchanged a quick glance with her husband, "Professor Snape, was it? Do you think she could get away from school tomorrow?"

Severus nodded. "Certainly. Someone would have to escort her but in general, I see no problem," he replied – knowing that those two people needed to talk – and needed to discuss what had happened.

xx

"Will you let me come again tomorrow?" Hermione asked hopefully. This was going better than she had hoped for. They would naturally want to think about it, would want to talk about it with each other before talking to her. She understood that. She knew about it – she was the same way. Mulling things over – most of the time anyway. Sometimes she was more impulsive than her entire family combined.

"Yes," her father said from where he stood.

"Yes," her mother repeated. "Come for lunch," she added.

"Oh thank you!" Hermione gushed and beamed at her parents then Severus. She nodded at him – thanking him quietly.

xx

He heard her sigh softly and knew that it was time to leave. Leave the Grangers be to fully accept that her daughter had done the right thing, had chosen the only way to keep her parents alive.

"May we use your fireplace?" he asked politely.

"Of course," Mister Granger replied instantly and shook his hand – before he smiled a little at his daughter and then gave her a tiny hug – not with both arms, only with one – but he seemed to squeeze her upper arm – and she seemed to be perfectly happy with that. For the time being.

Celia Granger, on the other hand, still looked puzzled – startled. Obviously she needed her husband now and they were merely intruding.

"Miss Granger, shall we go?" he asked and received a nod from her.

"Where to?"

"My office."

She nodded again and as he handed her a bit of floo powder he had brought – just in case – she stepped into the fireplace, muttered a few words under her breath (and no, he had not known that she could activate fireplaces to be reconnected to the floo) and waved shyly before she disappeared in green flames.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," he heard Mister Granger say just before he vanished as well.

He breathed deeply when he returned to his office – and she was already sitting on the floor next to his fireplace.

Hermione looked up at her – and no – why was she crying? That had been a good visit, hadn't it? Short – but good.

He would never understand tears. Never. Why was she crying now that she had permission to go to see her parents again? And on the next day?

"Why are you crying now?" he snarled before he could stop himself.

"I'm happy," she looked up through hooded eyes and shuffled to her feet. "Thank you so much," she managed to choke out before she burst into another round of vicious tears.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," he muttered and took two steps towards her.

'Do it now!' the voice in his head shouted.

He rolled his eyes slightly and with another two steps, he stood just before her. Slowly, he brought his hands up and in front and they found themselves on her shoulders. He pulled her close without actually knowing if he was doing it right, no, that was the way they had hugged before. He pulled her even a little closer and slid his hands to the middle of her back and splayed his fingers only a little.

Instead of just looking up at him – appalled most likely – she buried her face in the folds of his robes and her hands were suddenly around him as well and she held on tight.

"There's no need to cry, Hermione," he whispered. "It's going to be alright."

She sniffled and nodded against his chest and he found himself grasping her tighter. And wishing to never let go. Before he knew what he was doing, his face had lowered itself to the top of her head and he smelled her hair, her shampoo, her scent – and suddenly, his lips were on her hair and he kissed the top of her head.

And Severus Snape had no idea why he had done it but the annoying voice seemed to jump up and down with loud shouts of 'Yes! Yes! Yes!'

_**xx**_


	46. Chapter 46

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

It was – surprisingly – only after she had left that it hit him. He had kissed her. Just like that – no reason – just because he wanted to.

Actually, Severus Snape was already in bed – mulling over the day – when the thought hit him that he had allowed himself to do what he felt like doing – and he realised that he had really wanted to take her into his arms and kiss the top of her head. He had wanted that – and he had done it.

And now – he couldn't take it back. And oddly enough – no, he didn't want to.

He didn't want to regret.

However, a small part of his brain protested him not regretting. She was a student, for Merlin's sake – she was young, she was too inexperienced in all inter-human relations. She was – no.

She was Hermione.

He had to remind himself that this was not the usual, normal, standard seventh year. For once, she was more than a year older than her classmates, she had fought a war, she had experienced things nobody her age should.

She was Hermione.

Not some random student – no, she had openly, offensively, outstandingly sought his friendship. She had offered it on a silver platter. She had given with both hands – she had not held back. She had not been terrified of him – she trusted him.

She was Hermione – and Hermione was his friend.

And nobody, nobody – not even the headmistress, not even Potter, not even the Weasley could object to a friendly kiss on top of a friend's head.

It wasn't as if he had shoved his tongue down her throat and had ripped her clothes off.

'Daydreaming?' the voice asked cheekily.

'No,' he replied evenly, 'ripping off clothes is not my style.'

'Right, I forget, you're more the peeling slowly off type – savouring – enjoying.'

Severus huffed and rolled on his side. Damn annoying voice. And that voice should be content with the fact that – for the first time in a long while – he had a good friend.

Someone who was not afraid to touch him – someone who let him hug her – someone who didn't pull back appalled when his hand touched hers – or her back – or his lips her hair.

No – she had smiled and had wished him a very good night after she had left his embrace and hell that hadn't happened for a long time. She had just stood there, with her arms around him and had rested her head against his chest, his shoulder, his collarbone.

'She fits, doesn't she?'

Damn voice – he pulled up his Occlumency shields – and cleared his mind.

xx

She was giddy with excitement. She would just go to her parents – she would talk to them, calmly, like adults. She would be back at home again.

A missive had arrived during breakfast – a quick note from the headmistress, saying that Hermione was allowed to floo from her office directly to her parents and then back again. She was – sad – that Severus would not escort her there and still, he had blinked at her during breakfast and she was almost tempted to run up to the staff table and kiss his cheek and tell him that she was very grateful for him being there when she needed someone.

And hell – he had kissed the top of her head. At first, she had thought that maybe she had mistaken the feeling for something else – but no – she had been right, she knew – nothing felt like lips on top of one's head.

In that moment – she wasn't sure if there were words that described how she felt about it – she felt as if she was the most important person in the world, someone so terribly significant, so wonderfully intimate. That moment belonged to her. And probably him. But she would cherish it – cherish it for a long, long time. Something she had burned in her brain, in her memory.

She was – in short – remembering that moment all the time. And his embrace. The way he had pulled her in his arms, the way he had spoken to her when she had her arms around him as well – when he had splayed his fingers over her back – and had barely moved them – she would always remember it.

His embrace – this hug – was different than the two other, two and a half, really, they had shared before. It was his, and his only. He had given it willingly, he had pulled her to him, he had touched her. Had kissed her.

It was nothing compared to the misplaced kiss on his lips on New Year's Eve. No – it was his. What he had given her.

A gift.

And then, she knew, no matter what her parents would do – she had someone to return to – someone who would console her, who would be on her side.

But of course, it wouldn't go bad.

xx

He knew she was safe with her parents, and he knew she would return to Minerva's office. But he also knew, somehow, that she would seek him out if something went wrong.

And yes – that thought filled him with pride.

And happiness.

And when Minerva knocked on the door to his office, he wasn't even that bothered. Only a little.

"Severus," she said breathlessly and clutched her chest.

"What, without your other half?" he sneered.

The headmistress rolled her eyes. "I've come to talk about something of great importance and since I didn't see you at breakfast..."

"Because you were doing whatever with your husband," he replied and he still sneered. Just because Hermione got to see another side of him didn't mean that anyone else had to.

She waved her hand dismissively and sat down on a conjured chair. "Ronald Weasley's come back."

"You've made better jokes," he drawled and turned back to the essay he had been correcting.

"No joke," she said quietly and stared at him. "He came here late last night and enrolled himself again."

"He's done with school! He left out of his own free will. He can't come back. And it's the middle of the year – he's not so smart that he could get his NEWTs that way."

Minerva shrugged – and her face showed clearly the surprise of his outburst. "He legally didn't finish his seventh year and is entitled to come back and finish it, since he left out of his own free will and wasn't expelled."

But didn't she understand? Ronald Weasley – and his sister – in the same year as Hermione and she was doing so well lately. She had calmed, she had relaxed – but with him there – didn't Minerva understand?

"He will not get into Potions," he said viciously. "And I swear, if he puts one toe out of line, I'll have him expelled."

"Why do you feel so strongly about him?" Minerva asked softly.

"It's Weasley, Minerva," he stood up and loomed over her, "it's Ronald Weasley. The red-headed menace. You let him back. Isn't he married?"

Minerva nodded. "He explained, Severus," she paused, "apparently Missus Weasley's child is not Ronald Weasley's. And apparently, she threw him out. He went back to his parents but they wanted him to do something. And since he had no other idea, he came here."

"That's absolutely ridiculous," he replied, his voice under control again. "Have you read the Prophet lately, headmistress?"

She nodded solemnly. "I couldn't turn him away on grounds that he cheated on my favourite student."

"Favourite student, eh?" he shook his head, "You should have turned him away not because of Miss Granger but because of all your other female students. Do you think he will keep his hands – and other body parts – from the students?"

Minerva gasped. "I hadn't thought about that," she replied pensively.

"You better had," he glared. "I will not brew contraceptive potions."

She sighed. "I, erm, so this is not about Hermione?"

Of course it was – but he would not tell her that. "Don't be silly. Why would I care about _your favourite student_? I merely think it would be unwise for the reputation of this school if a lot of girls end up with child. Just because someone whose fifteen minutes of fame are not over yet, needs to prove to himself that he's good at something he does," he sneered. "Even if it's probably not good, I actually can't imagine it."

"Severus!" she exclaimed scandalised, "I've never heard you talk this way."

He arched an eyebrow. "I have never talked about Ronald Weasley. And to be frank, I have no inclination of ever doing it again."

She sighed. "Severus, this is serious. I have let him back, I had to, I did, whatever, and now he's here. And if what you say will really become reality, then I cannot deal with it on my own. And I don't know any other teacher who's – pardon my expression – as feared as you are. And even Weasley does."

He raised his eyebrows further and spoke softly. "I will not let him into Potions."

"You said that," she replied exasperatedly, "but that's beside the point."

"And I will not brew contra..." he interrupted.

"No, that either – but you do know all the quiet corners where the students...you know."

He sneered. "Yes, I do. But then again, if you let him back – why should I tell you? Go to your students and tell them not to have relations with that boy because, by Merlin, there are enough Weasleys as it is," he added.

"You will help me because you're nice underneath all that gruff exterior and I know that because I've known you since you were eleven and if you don't help me, I will tell everyone."

He sneered. "Nobody will believe you that."

"Oh yes, they will."

"Blackmailing me, headmistress?"

She shook her head nonchalantly, "Not at all. Just ensuring your help – and besides, you don't want to teach dozens of Weasleys in eleven years, do you?"

He merely rolled his eyes and spoke softly. "I'll consider it."

"Oh," the headmistress knew when she was dismissed – but she always sort of threw a post-scrip into the conversation, "Miss Granger told me this morning that she will consider staying here."

He sat stock still. Staying. Weasley there.

Oh, he would make staying for the Weasley-boy a living hell. And if he so much as looked at Hermione the wrong way...

No – he couldn't be too obvious.

And why in the name of Merlin was he feeling so protective of Hermione?

xx

Hermione sighed happily. Yes, it had taken longer than she had suspected – but a lot of things had been said.

And she understood her parents better now – she thought. They had said (well, her father had) that they had the feeling not to know their daughter any more. And Hermione had been able to relate to that – and she had told her parents everything. She had just blurted out everything – and no, she hadn't sugar-coated anything. Except, well, her parents did not need to know about the dragon. Or crazy Bellatrix Lestrange's proclivity for a certain curse. But the rest – the camping, the horcruxes, Ron, she had told them everything.

And sometime after she had explained about the final battle, her mother had began to sob – and had hugged her hard. And well, because it was always that way, had always been the way, Hermione had cried with her mother. And it was so cleansing. Somehow.

And when she had finished (having drunk about five or six or seven cups of tea meanwhile), her parents had talked. First her dad. Then mum.

And by the time, dad had gone to get some Indian take away, she had almost sat in mum's lap.

And that was all she could say about it. She knew that it would continue to be difficult – especially when she continued to live in the Wizarding World (and she had no intention of ever leaving) – but she had felt closer to her parents than she had in a long time. A very long time.

Yes, that made her ecstatic. And there was only one person in the world (apart from Harry – but she would probably go and see him the next day) that she wanted to share those news with.

"Headmistress?" she asked as she stepped out of the fireplace in her office.

"Oh, Hermione there you are," Minerva McGonagall stepped into the office from a door Hermione didn't know was there. And – shock – her hair was down. And the glasses slightly askew on her nose. No – Hermione Granger did not want to know what her respected teacher had just done. And what she had interrupted.

"Yes," she beamed.

"It went well?" the older woman asked curiously.

"Very," she nodded. "I'm sorry I'm so late though."

"That's nice to hear. Listen, Miss Granger..."

"Don't you want to stick to one?" Hermione asked good-naturedly. "Hermione's just fine."

Minerva cleared her throat. "Well, yes. Alright. Hermione, there's something..."

"I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall, I think I should go to the Tower. It's already past curfew and if Mister Filch, or heaven forbid, Professor Snape find me out there wandering..."

"Yes, but..." Minerva said but Hermione did not hear the rest. She just waved and skipped out of the office.

She had no intention of going straight to Gryffindor Tower. Definitely not. She just hoped that Severus was still in his office. Otherwise – oh well. She would find a way to contact him and as she quietly walked down the stairs, she whistled as quietly as she could, for her owl. Hermes would know where to find him.

xx

He had just sat down in his favourite chair, a book and a glass of pumpkin juice next to him (because – contrary to popular opinion, there was such a thing as too much tea during a day). He had gotten out of his robes and his coat and his shoes – and rested comfortably.

Oh – he had seen Weasley during dinner. Eating like a bottomless pit again. Had the boy no manners at all? He had been so tempted to hex him but Minerva next to him kept such a close watch on him that it had been impossible – even if it was wandless and silent. She would have realised. So – he would wait a day or two – and wait for the opportune moment – basically whenever Aberforth joined his wife for dinner.

The boy – seriously – had not changed at all.

Potter had grown up – Potter had sought to talk to him – Potter had somewhat apologised. Potter was responsible – Potter had been changed by the war.

Hermione – oh, Hermione had changed a lot. He couldn't even begin to count every way in which she had changed.

Well – no – actually, Weasley had changed. Where he had been shy with girls during the time at Hogwarts, he was now forward – almost to the point of being a disgusting ladies' man. No, not almost. He most definitely had his hand up poor Annabelle Abby's thigh. And she was only a fifth year. Obviously, the Weasley liked his women young.

He had, of course, pointed this out to the headmistress – and she had rushed away from dinner – and had tightened the security on the girls' dorms in every house. And had added some on the boys'. At least he hoped that that was what she had been doing. She had not shown up for the rest of dinner.

But be that as it may – he would go on a round in about half an hour – and if he found that – that lothario – that skirt chaser somewhere, that boy would suffer.

But in the middle of his musings – smirking thinking about all the ways he could hex the boy – there was a knock on his door.

"Great," he muttered, "so Minerva has found him already."

And since it would only be the headmistress, he didn't bother with shoes or his robes or anything. She had seen him in less when he had returned from a meeting with you-know-who and he had barely made it up to the Infirmary. A long time ago.

He shook himself out of those thoughts and opened the door to his quarters.

"Hi," it was definitely not Minerva.

"It's past curfew, is it not?" he asked – but stepped aside and let her in.

"That it is," she beamed and looked around in astonishment and only now he saw the owl perching on her shoulder. "I'm sorry for bothering you in here," she continued and stroked the owl's feathers, "I've tried your office but what would you do there at this time of night. So Hermes brought me here. I didn't want to disturb you in your chambers."

"Apparently not," he said softly and gestured towards a chair. She sat down gracefully and still looked around – until her eyes fell on his feet.

"I really didn't mean to disturb you," she replied – more apologetic, less chipper this time.

"I'm sure you had a good reason," he drawled – and felt surprisingly unembarrassed that she saw him basically naked. According to his standards anyway. Hell – he had kissed the girl – she could see him in socks, couldn't she?

'Right you are,' the voice was back. With a vengeance.

"Erm, yes," she smiled brightly – interrupting the voice which had begun to lecture him on something – he tried not to listen.

"Yes?" he sat down in his chair.

"I just came back from my parents," she began, obviously happy.

"It went well?" he asked rhetorically.

"Yes! Really well. I haven't talk to them like this in years and years. And I want to thank you so much. Really!" she sounded so enthusiastic and she leaned forward in the chair and looked at him – and suddenly, leaned further forward – and took his hand. "Really."

"I, no, you're welcome," he said softly and stared down at their hands. Twined together.

"I just wanted to tell you," she gushed and squeezed his hand. "And thank you and, oh my God, I can't tell you how relieved I am."

He nodded curtly. She positively beamed – her complexion was – nice – and her cheeks so – nice.

"And I'm late and I'm intruding and – I'm so sorry for coming here. If I had known, I mean – Hermes just sort of..."

"Yes, yes," he replied a little impatiently. And she was still holding his hand.

"Anyway, do you have a floo here? I don't know if Mister Filch would take nicely to me wandering around this late."

He nodded again and pointed at the fireplace. "Do you mind if I use it?"

"Feel free," he replied and she slowly pulled her hand away – her fingers brushing against his skin so tantalizingly. And she didn't even seem to realise it. She was just – so happy.

She probably wasn't thinking at all. "Thanks," she smiled and before he could say another word, she stood in the fireplace. "Good night," she added.

"Oh Merlin – Hermione, I should tell you..." he said rapidly, but she was gone already. He had so wanted to tell her that Ronald Weasley, the idiot was back. And now, he didn't have a chance. What if she encountered him in the common room?

He sighed. Well – he just hoped she had the good sense of coming down there to him again before she hexed the boy into oblivion. Or maybe she should just do that. He certainly deserved it.

Pulling on his shoes, he hoped that he did find Weasley. That he could make sure he got expelled as soon as possible.

xx

The common room had been empty, the girls in her dorm asleep. She had gone to sleep a happy person.

Severus was wonderful – he really was. No, really. There she was – storming into his private (!) quarters and he had opened his door to her – in socks, and only his trousers and shirt. This was basically naked for a man who usually never left his office without at least his coat. And mostly his coat and robes. And he had offered her a seat and had listened to her and he had let her hold his hand, and, without a word in edgewise, he had let her thank him.

She didn't know why she had taken her sweet time pulling her hand away – but his – it was so...strong and manly and not soft at all. And it still felt oddly wonderful. Like nothing could happen to her when she held on to him. Or when he held on to her. It wasn't only the hugs. It was every contact she had with him.

Maybe – she was influenced by the fact that she knew now all he had done during the war. Maybe she just felt protected by the fact that she knew that he could actually protect her – and that, for once, she wasn't sure whether she wanted to look out for herself all the time.

No – that was rubbish. She could very well protect herself.

Still, it was nice to know he was there.

She was late – well, not overly late, but later than usual for breakfast. The Great Hall would be packed but she was hungry. A good night's sleep did that for her.

Oh well – so she would suffer one crowded breakfast, and after that would immediately go to her potions class.

She smiled to herself. Seeing him again.

But why was that making her so happy?

Oh yes – he was her friend. Simple – she was looking forward to seeing her friend.

The doors to the Great Hall opened and – oddly enough – Severus sat up there at the staff table. He was late for breakfast as well – apparently – and she felt horrible for a second for keeping him up the night before but then she remembered that he had still been dressed.

Oh dear – Severus in pyjamas. Was he wearing a nightshirt? Or muggle nightwear? Or nothing?

She blushed despite herself – why was she thinking about him in nightclothes anyway? She shook herself and looked at him again.

He was staring at something, wasn't he? Very intently.

She followed his gaze and her eyes widened. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. She remembered her wand this time and with a flick of her wrist, it had fallen from her sleeve into her hands. She held her head high – and strode towards the Gryffindor table. Because there sat...

"Ronald Weasley!"

_**xx**_


	47. Chapter 47

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

She looked like revenge personified – like Nemesis – with her wand drawn, her eyes flashing and her cheeks slightly flushed.

Severus Snape was by nature not an anxious, or fearful, or timid person – quite on the contrary – but seeing Hermione like this – his wand would have been drawn seconds ago – and his shield charm erected as strongly as he could.

Ronald Weasley – and Severus knew he had a very strong phobia about spiders – did none of those things. No, the idiot boy just stood up and approached her, grinningly.

Severus could only shake his head (which he did internally – there were students present after all) and, he noticed that the headmistress was looking intently at both Ron and Hermione down there in the hall.

This – this was his cue. He didn't need to say the words out loud – he didn't need his wand.

And he watched – in amazement and glee he had only rarely felt before – Hermione's reaction.

xx

"Ronald Weasley!" she shouted and knew she was now ready to hex him – to the end of time. Impudence. Effrontery. Cheek. Just to show up at her school – and in his uniform. What did he think he was doing there anyway?

"What are you doing here?" he had moved towards her but she couldn't help but shout. It was just the way she worked – once riled up, once angry – nothing could stop her. She had let him go off too lightly with the punch in the nose in the first place.

But now – now – was the time to rectify that.

Her wand was pointed at his throat and even though he had his hands lifted in a surrendering gesture, she didn't even consider for a moment not hexing him.

"'Mione," he said, obviously trying to sound sweet. But sweet sounded different. Sweet had a raspy voice and said things like 'It's going to be alright' and 'there's no need to cry, Hermione.'

Hermione. Not 'Mione.

"What?" she glared at him, wondering for a quick moment what hex or jinx to use – when her eyes were drawn to his forehead.

MENACE

In huge, beautiful, bright (Slytherin) green letters.

Her eyes widened for a split second. She had only told two people about her hex. Two people. Harry, who wasn't there, and – Severus.

Risking a quick glance at the staff table, she saw him smirking at her – and slowly, lazily blinking. She, however, didn't blink back. No, there was no time for that.

"Bloody bastard," she muttered under her breath and a bright blue light shot out the tip of her wand.

His hair – was matching the colour of the letters on his forehead – and it was a little shorter – no fringe – nothing to hide the word.

"'Mione!" he almost shrieked. "What're you doing?"

"What I should have done in the first place," she replied coldly. She knew the incantation she wanted to say – she knew it – and she would use it. Would serve him right.

"Amputa..."

"Hermione, no," the headmistress had suddenly appeared by her side and lay a hand on her arm.

"No," she said angrily and wanted to say the incantation again – wanted to rid him off – well – but once more she was stopped and her wand was suddenly not in her hand any more. "Professor, I..."

"No," she said gently.

"But..:"

"'Mione," Ron exclaimed again – and only then seemed to notice that something wasn't quite right with him – the other students were silently staring and his sister, _darling_ Ginny, was pointing at his forehead and – shrieking. "What?" he asked and looked at his sister.

"How dare you!" Ginny jumped up and wanted to launch herself at Hermione but was stopped – inches before and she hovered, oddly, in the air, quite still.

"He'll just get what he deserves," Hermione still tried to get her wand back from the headmistress's grasp but failed – and, just as suddenly as she had appeared, Severus was next to her – and plucked Ginevra Weasley's wand from her stiff fingers.

"As much as I enjoy Gryffindors trying to kill each other," he drawled and the silk was almost back in his voice. "I'd much rather prefer it not in the Great Hall. Don't you agree, headmistress?" He gave Minerva Weasley's wand – and in turn, took Hermione's.

"Miss Granger, you follow me," he added menacingly when he received a nod from the headmistress.

Hermione glared at him, then faced Ron. "Rot in hell," she muttered and lifted her hand almost lazily. She merely looked at him – and a split second later – he had shrunk in size – now even smaller – in her estimation – than Professor Flitwick.

"Miss Granger," the headmistress's voice was fierce.

"I'm going," she mumbled and strode – her head high – out of the Great Hall – Severus following her.

"Bloody bugger. What's he doing here? Couldn't stand school and now he's back in his uniform and eating at the table? What kind of stupid, idiotic, childish prank is that? Should be with his wife or some other woman," she muttered and Severus grasped her shoulder.

"The dungeons," he said sternly, his eyebrows raised.

"Can I at least have my wand back?" she glared at him now. "And why is he here? What's he doing here for breakfast?"

He rolled his eyes. "The dungeons, Miss Granger. Now!"

xx

He hid his smirk behind his hand – cutting the Weasley down to size – without a wand – and non-verbally. That really was some witch there, walking in front of him. And it served him right.

If Minerva had not appeared by her side – he would have let them duel for sure. Or would have let Hermione hex him – and amputate various pieces of him. But such as it was, he had to interfere. And Hermione could better rant and storm in his office, without anyone else but him present.

Severus hadn't – to be quite honest – expected her to react quite this way, not quite so suddenly and violently. She certainly had reason enough but then again she had never hit him as an overly impulsive person.

"I can't get in," she suddenly pointed at the door to his office.

He rolled his eyes, "That is because I have my wards up," he said slowly and with a flick of his wand, the door was slightly ajar and she pushed it open and ran in – her wand still with him.

He followed her, warded his door again, cast an additional silencing charm and as she paced around his office, he sat down at his desk.

"Did you know?" she asked suddenly, stopping exactly in the middle of the room.

"Since last night," he replied honestly.

"Was I or was I not here last night? Why didn't you tell me?" she asked – clearly hurt now.

"You were here last night and I did try to tell you," he said softly, "but when Miss Granger is on a roll, it's difficult to get a word in in edgewise. Especially when she only disappears through the floo."

"Oh," she sighed and began to pace again. "And that was what the headmistress wanted to tell me, I suppose."

He nodded sharply and put both his and her wand on the table and waited for her to continue talking. She would – eventually.

"Why is he here?" she asked again.

"Apparently to finish his education," he replied evenly.

"But...he was never interested in school. He was glad he was rid of it. Why would he want to come back?" she asked, her eyes – haunted.

He sneered. "Mister Weasley is not known for his thorough thinking."

"What about that child-bride?"

He smirked. "Apparently Mister Weasley and his wife are at odds – since nobody knows whose child it is."

She shook her head. "Severus, I..."

A shiver ran down his spine – she had always avoided addressing him directly – but his name from her mouth, it had an almost exotic ring to it – it sounded like something he wanted to be called.

"Hermione, what you did in the Hall is unacceptable."

She sighed. "Yes, yes, so? I didn't make the word appear on his forehead. And it's all reversible," she huffed and pulled a chair at the opposite side of his desk back and sat down. "I don't know why I lost it like that. I mean, technically, it's all in the past, right? It's not like he horribly hurt me or, I don't know, that I was terribly heart-broken after the break-up."

He observed her closely – too many emotions to decipher rushed over her face and he knew it was time.

It was time to open up a little. To offer genuine advice. To reassess the situation and let her know about it.

She would not tell anyone. She would not.

"Hermione," he began slowly, "I think that you were hurt," he raised and hand when he noticed she wanted to interrupt, "and this kind of hurt does not have to do with heartache. But he still cheated on you – and the way I understand it quite massively, often and with many. Even if your heart is not broken, this is definitely a blow to your, shall we say, ego? To your self-esteem, to self-confidence. He clearly told you that he didn't want you – and you, with the help of his sister – started to believe that you were not good enough for him," he stopped to shake his head when she wanted to protest, "I clearly remember you coming down here, and telling me that Miss Weasley explicitly stated that he had _replaced_ you – for reasons that you know and I know, this bears no need for repetition."

"But," she interrupted quickly, "I thought I had put that behind me. And it's not like I define myself over the matter whether I'm great in bed or not."

She shook his head again. "Concentrate, Hermione. Do you think anyone likes to hear that? Especially when it seemed to be the reason for the break-up?"

She shook her head slowly and pulled her lip between her teeth. She stared at him, that haunted look in her eyes again. The lip, slowly, slid out between her teeth – and he was mesmerised by that sight. It was – oh Merlin – almost erotic. Her eyes had locked on his and he had to drag his away from her lips – and up.

The most curious thing happened then – something he had only known from when he had been still in service (in real service, not the spy-time) with the Dark Lord. His eyes locked with hers – she pulled him in with her gaze, and he saw nothing apart from her eyes – only those. The deep, warm brown around her wide pupils – it wasn't that dark in his office, was it? - a colour like – like – he could think of nothing.

The ability to think – it wasn't that important now, was it?

He stared and stared. There was nothing he could do.

As the Dark Lord had done – Hermione was holding him captive with her eyes. He couldn't have moved if he wanted to – it was like she had woven a net, or an immobility spell over him with her gaze.

There was one difference though. He had always been afraid, very afraid when the Dark Lord had held his eyes that way.

Now – he wasn't. Not at all.

He knew he could pull his gaze away any time. Probably.

xx

His gaze was so intense – it warmed her to the very core and she knew she had to look away – or she would be pulled into his eyes.

It was odd, really. She knew, logically, that other things existed around her – that the office was there, that there were bookshelves all around and that in less than fifteen minutes, their potions class would begin.

But none of that mattered.

She really didn't know what had happened – and she didn't realise that she was leaning forward a little, her chest crushed against his chest and she didn't realise that he did the same – she only realised that suddenly, the eyes were larger – more prominent, more beautiful than she had ever seen them before.

They were dark, yes, and darker still since his pupils were so large. It wasn't really dark down here, was it?

He was close – why was he so close now? She could feel his breath on her face, and could smell the coffee he had drunk.

And suddenly, her hand was on the desk – and covering his – and she had no idea how it got there, nor if she had moved it up – or if maybe he had taken it – or she was under some form of Imperius.

She had completely forgotten what they had talked about – and hexing Ronald had quite gone out of her head.

She was pulled ever closer – and her face was less than inches from his – and suddenly – suddenly, she understood.

It hit her like a brick and the force from that metaphorical brick let her widen her eyes – and she pulled back – sat back straight in her hair, her hand suddenly in her lap again.

'Oh God,' she thought to herself.

xx

Had they just been close to kissing?

Somehow, her face had suddenly been so close, her eyes even bigger than usual and he noticed for the first time a little golden fleck in her left eye – and they shone – gleamed. He had felt her coming closer and her eyes had compelled him to lean in closer as well.

And hell yes, he had wanted to kiss her. Or hug her. Or anything.

But then, suddenly, she had pulled back and she looked wide-eyed at him. At first, he thought it was fear – or rejection – or her being appalled, disgusted. But no – it wasn't that – he knew, when suddenly, she broke out in a beaming, amazing, flashing smile. It lit the entire room, warmed him, warmed his heart.

It was a smile he hadn't seen before. Big, a little teeth could be seen – but there was a gentleness, a tenderness in that smile – in her eyes as well – that he had never seen this way before.

Wait – he had.

When Minerva smiled at Aberforth – that was the same smile.

He gasped – a tiny sound – when he realised this. It was – what if...oh no.

"We should probably go to class," she said suddenly, softly, whisperingly, tenderly.

He breathed deeply – and felt as if for the first time in all the minutes since he had led her to his office – his lungs filled completely with air again. "Yes, we should," he replied and he hardly recognised his own voice.

xx

She couldn't help her smile and she didn't want to hide it either. No, it was for him because – seriously – she was considered the brightest witch of her age but she hadn't quite figured out why she sought him out so often, why she wanted to be in his company – why it had felt so right when he had held and kissed her.

She felt like slapping her hand to her forehead. And then not.

'Oh God,' she thought again. 'It can't be.'

Still, she smiled – she couldn't help it, really she couldn't and stood up, grabbing her wand, as soon as he did and he made his way to the door.

"Erm, Severus?" she asked just before he opened it.

"Yes?" he turned and she hadn't really expected to see that much confusion in his eyes – but she averted hers quite quickly – she couldn't really fall into the depth of his eyes again as she had just before.

"Will I get detention?"

He frowned, sighed, then answered – in a low, almost tired voice. "On top of that month you already have?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure whether I'm welcome in the common room," she replied. "Between Ginny and Ron? The Liar and the Menace?"

He looked at her – and suddenly, his face broke out in a smile – a heart-stopping smile. It wasn't big, or huge – just a little, tiny, minuscule, basically, smile – but beautiful. "I have absolutely no idea what made you write menace on his forehead – in such a beautiful shade of green," the smile had turned into a smirk and her heart began to beat again – or was maybe beating slower. She wasn't sure.

"Oh haha," she chuckled. "Green is really not my colour."

"And wandless, too," he remarked.

"I was angry. And I can shrink almost anything wandlessly."

"And non-verbally. I really did teach you something."

Hermione's face turned serious and she stepped a little closer, putting her hand on his for only a quick second. "You really did," she whispered and opened the door to his classroom.

xx

He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat – and tried to get his breathing back to normal again. Oh – how inconvenient. He had smiled for heaven's sake. At her. Sheepishly. Or something like that. He at least thought it must have looked that way.

Oh – no -oh – no. She was smart, she was Hermione – she would spot that he had...-...no, that he felt something for her.

No no no. Not good at all.

But really – what could he have done differently? The way she had smiled, the way her lips had curved, the way she had – oh no.

'Losing it, Snape?' the annoying voice in his head asked. 'Stop saying no no no all the time, it's annoying.'

'You're one to talk,' he growled back. 'Can't do this to her.'

'Can't do what to her? Sheesh, you were not even inches from kissing her.'

'No no no no no.'

'There we go again,' the voice complained. 'Now, can you go in there and teach and afterwards realise that you are in love with one Hermione Granger? Or do you have to admit it to yourself before you go teach her?'

He tried breathing deeply. This was not good at all. Stupid girl had made her way into his life – and – into the thing that others called the heart. Not that he was aware that he had one.

'Oh, you do. Or what do you think is beating so quickly now?'

'Shut up,' he groaned and, pushing the voice to the back of his head – he strode into his classroom and decided that, if the headmistress did nothing to prevent things from _happening_, he would have to.

"Contraceptive potion," he said sharply – and with a flick of his wand, the recipe appeared on the black board. "Now, you have 90 minutes."

xx

Hermione looked up in astonishment. Contraceptive potion? That was certainly not on the syllabus. She had to go directly to Moste Potente Potions to get the recipe when she had needed it and Severus was teaching it now?

She risked a glance at Luna but the blonde was already busy chopping and cutting and didn't even notice her.

"Miss Granger," she suddenly heard his voice again and even though he always used her name in class that way – it sounded strange now. "Is there a problem?"

"No, sir," she shook her head. "No problem."

"Then why haven't you started yet?" he growled in a low voice and she shrugged and began chopping up her ingredients. She could brew this bloody potion in her sleep – Ron had never really learned the art of casting a perfect charm – and worse – she had not trusted him to do it.

And Luna – she had sort of hoped to talk to Luna – but the girl was so concentrated and besides – what would she tell her?

'Luna, I think I've got feeling for – well.'

Absolutely not. She couldn't tell anyone, wouldn't tell anyone.

xx

He stayed in his office longer that day – he knew she would be there eventually – and seeing her in his quarters again? After that morning? Probably not the best idea. So he sat and waited.

She had not been at dinner – and if she didn't show up until curfew, he would go to the courtyard. He didn't put it past her to set up camp there instead of sleep in her dormitory.

But no, his first thought had been right. He had just scrawled a large, red T on a first year's essay when there was a knock – her knock.

Severus lifted his wand lazily and the door opened slowly.

"What an idiot," she huffed and in a flash sat on the chair opposite him.

"I take it you talk about Mister Weasley?"

"Who else?" she pushed her hair out of her face and stared at the worn surface of his desk. "You know what he did?"

"I'm on tenterhooks to hear it," he replied sarcastically.

"Oh please, I know you're curious," she huffed and looked up. "Sorry, I didn't mean it but the ah – git – after Transfiguration, he came to me, and said he wanted to talk. You know he's still the size?"

He nodded sharply. "I have seen Mister Weasley at dinner. While you were conspicuous by your absence."

"I went to the kitchen. I couldn't sit there," she replied softly, "anyway, he told me that he can fully – fully! - understand that I hexed him and that he deserves it probably. What kind of Confundus hit him anyway? And then he said – and listen to this – that he will try and win me back and if it's quote, the last thing he does. How dare he? I don't want him."

He looked at her quizzically and she rattled on. "He's an idiot. Feeling up oh so many girls … oh my God," she grinned. "That was why you had has brew the potion."

"Excuse me?"

"Of course," she chuckled. "It's clear – you don't want anyone to get pregnant, don't you? It's just the thing you would do."

"Don't be absurd. I teach every seventh year class this potion," he lied smoothly.

"Yeah, okay. Doesn't matter. Anyway, so, he has his hands up every other girl's thigh and tells me that he loves me and wants me back?" She sighed. "He can't honestly believe I would fall for that?"

"Hermione," he had a pained expression on his face, "I do not know why you insist on telling me those things."

She shrugged. "I like talking to you. You know that. And I went to the headmistress's office just before."

"She left with her husband. Professor Flitwick is in charge," he replied calmly.

"I know but I can't very well go to him and ask him if I can have a room of my own."

"A room of...I see. Miss Weasley?"

"Not quite. But she will and I really don't have the energy and everything to stay up all night just because I suspect her to hex me as soon as I fall asleep."

"And you can't ask Professor Flitwick why?"

"He would fuss and flit around and tell me how sorry he is and in the end, I'd have no room."

He nodded. "I'm afraid she won't return until early next morning."

"I suspected as much and I thought, if you'd let me floo to the Hog's Head, I could sleep there, maybe."

He frowned. "Under no circumstances."

"But the headmistress will probably be there as well," she argued. "And I'm simply out of other ideas. I can't sleep outside. It's raining."

"Of course you can't. Don't be silly."

He knew he shouldn't. He shouldn't. No – not a good idea – not at all.

"See? I'm out of ideas. And I can't just go into any room. Who knows what happens there. There are enough ghosts, and Peeves and I don't fancy waking up with God knows what all over me."

'You can help her,' the annoying voice pitched in again. 'And she slept in your private lab before.'

'She'll not sleep in my lab,' he growled back and fixed Hermione with his gaze.

"I have a couch and I hear your Transfiguration skills are up to par," he said softly.

"I couldn't possible impose like that," she exclaimed. "I don't want to intrude."

"I offered, didn't I?" he replied sternly and got up. "Follow me."

xx

He pulled a book from a shelf, tapped the wall with his wand and when she stepped through the door that appeared there, she was in his living room. Where she had been before. But once more, it struck her as a room that she would be comfortable in, where she felt good.

"Are you sure?" she asked again as he pointed at the couch.

"If you ask one more time you can sleep in your dormitory and will be woken with whatever Miss Weasley comes up with during the night," he paused and looked at her, "Dizzy!"

The elf appeared immediately and looked up at Severus with large eyes. "Yes Master Snape?"

"Please go to Miss Granger's dormitory and bring a change of clothes and nightclothes. And if you say so much as a syllable about it..."

"Dizzy wants no clothes. Will not say a word," she nodded quickly and popped away.

She sighed. This was not what she had expected. On the contrary. "I don't know how to thank you," she said softly.

"Just make sure nobody sees you leave in the morning. People get the wrong ideas quite quickly."

She nodded. "Of course."

"Well, I'll be...good night."

"Erm, Severus?" she asked and held him back just as he wanted to open the door that led obviously to his bedroom.

"Can't sleep without a lullaby?" he mocked.

Hermione sighed. "No, of course not, but it's not even ten thirty. And that's not really my bedtime yet."

He spun around and looked intently at her. "Mine either," he replied very quietly.

"Couldn't we talk for a bit?" she asked shyly and sat down in the chair she had sat in the night before and when he sighed dramatically – but sat down nevertheless, she smiled.

"Thank you," she beamed. "I'm glad to have you as a friend. I couldn't be luckier."

"I wouldn't be so sure of it," he replied and stared into the distance.

She observed him and knew that he carried around a lot of weight on his shoulders – that he had probably nobody to talk about everything that had happened – even though, of course, she wasn't sure what kind of relationship he had with the headmistress – but that comment – and the one at her parents place, it was enough for her to know.

"You can talk to me, you know?" she replied softly. "And I'm still of the opinion that it was one of the best things that happened to me that you are my friend now."

He nodded and something inside of him seemed to argue – whether to tell her something or not. And then, his face changed – only a little – it was only a slight shift of muscle and something relaxed and something did not. She couldn't pinpoint it.

"I'm used not to talk to anyone," he said pensively, barely above a whisper.

"I know," she replied, her voice just as soft and she only saw her clothes lying on the couch – and two cups of tea hovering in front of either one of them.

"And I'm not used to trusting anyone."

That hurt – a little.

She breathed deeply. "I hope you know that you can trust me."

"I'm beginning to," he replied and his eyes found hers again – and she couldn't help falling into those bottomless pits again.

_**xx**_


	48. Chapter 48

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

It wasn't as if he had told her the story of his life. Quite the contrary – he had said little and she knew that he needed to trust her a lot more than he did at the moment to open up.

But – he had said – and that one felt like a slap on the shoulder and a punch in the stomach at the same time – that he regretted a lot of things.

A slap on the shoulder – because he had told her. And a punch in the stomach – because – just because she had suspected it before but hearing it, that one grown man could so openly (well...) declare that he had regrets. That hurt her – for him.

His life could have been so different. She knew – and he knew that she knew. Probably.

She lay on his couch (had not bothered to transfigure it – and why should she? She was a short woman, and the sofa was large enough for her. Besides, it smelled a little like him), no, she lay awake and stared into the room – it was really lovely – had white wallpaper, even, no pictures on the walls, an enchanted window, and it felt so warm and cosy due to the rather low ceiling. He could just stand straight in there.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and saw him sitting again – in front of her inner eye – in his chair, talking to her. It was the first time that she had seen real human emotion in his face, the first time he had really opened up and for the longest time, she just wanted to get up and cuddle him to her – hold him tight, let him talk – press a kiss on top of his head just as he had done – console him – be there for him.

And she wanted that – she knew. And she wanted it not only now – she knew that as well. No, she wanted it for longer.

The feeling, the odd, weird, sensational, horrible, terrible, wonderful feeling she had never experienced with Ron – it was all there.

Fluttering in her stomach (no butterflies and no air planes, no broomsticks, no, just a fluttering), and the urge to touch him, to reassure him. Just to be with him – the real Severus. And yes, she had gotten to know him now.

She wouldn't say that he was vulnerable – just as in the end, every single person in the world, even those who had possibly everything – was vulnerable and probably sometimes insecure. So was he – but he hid it admirably, she thought, most of the time. Or not so admirably – she wasn't sure.

And yes, she had talked as well – but then again, she always did. Things had blurted out of her that she hadn't even known herself.

"I'm afraid," she had said.

And he had looked at her again – with those beautiful, mysterious, wonderful eyes and she knew that he had understood her. The lazy blinking had only confirmed it – even though he hadn't said a word.

No, she had refrained from hugging him to her tightly when he had, sometime around one in the morning, said good night. It had been enough to squeeze his hand again.

And now, she couldn't stop thinking about his hands, his eyes – him. The entire package.

Hermione knew it was absolutely bonkers of her. Falling in love (oh yes – that) with (a) a teacher, (b) someone twenty years her seniors and (c) Severus Snape.

She knew that he wasn't typically good looking – or handsome. She knew he had his fault. In short, she knew him.

And Hermione Granger was anything but shallow.

"Looks fade, my girl, the character stays," her grandmother had always said. And her grandmother was right.

She didn't care about looks – she didn't care about his greasy hair, no, in fact, she had wanted to kiss him (and now, on his couch, she had the perverted fantasy of sitting in a tub with him and washing it – oh dear), she didn't care about the crooked, yellowish teeth (his tongue darted out earlier and had licked his lips briefly – and oh boy – better not go there), she didn't care about his nose. No, it was large, it looked like it had been broken a few times and she had wanted to run her fingertip down it – and had wanted to kiss the tip of his nose.

Not good. So not good.

But then again – he was there, wasn't he? And she was there. He had made her, basically, sleep in his quarters, on his (!) couch. With his afghan over her and one of his pillows under her head.

Seriously, she didn't think that he would have brought her here if he felt anything less than friendship. And crashing at a friend's house – common. But Severus Snape letting a friend sleep on his couch?

Weird.

What – what if he was feeling something similarly?

What an idiotic thought. She laughed silently at herself – then turned on her left side – and tried to sleep – and tried hard not to think about him in his nightclothes – just a door away.

And yes, that triggered the cinema in her head and it began playing in technicolor. And as beautiful as real life could never be.

Him, making her tea in the morning and bringing it to their bed – wishing her a good morning with a kiss on her lips. Or him, so close, kissing her, pushing, grunting, moaning, whispering her name in the throes of passion.

Or together with him, developing new potions, new theories, him touching her, holding her hand while they worked and the situation presented itself – or kissing the top of her head as he had done the other day – and, in the evenings, sitting between his legs, leaning against his chest and talking – or reading.

"Yeah, sure," she whispered to herself and that seemed the end of the head-cinema. But not the end of her thoughts about him.

xx

He sighed and turned on his left side. It was ridiculous – thinking about her like this.

Imagining a life with her.

No – he couldn't.

Hermione, in the nightclothes he had seen on the couch – long bottoms, in a yellowish sort of colour and what looked like a tight, long-sleeved top in dark blue, bringing him coffee to bed in the mornings, kissing him good morning. And he would pull her down against him until she lay flush on top of him.

Or Hermione, sitting comfortably on the couch she slept peacefully (he hoped) on now, with her feet on his lap, or his head down in her lap, both of them discussing something – or reading something together.

He couldn't remember a time when he had imagined his future – and now he did, quite vividly at that.

With Hermione Granger. His Gryffindor student.

And the voice in his head was blissfully quiet.

xx

She was up by five again – and quickly dressed in the skirt and blouse of her uniform, leaving the robes for the time being on the chair she had put them on the night before.. It wouldn't do for him to see her in her pj's. But – she needed the bathroom and she wasn't really sure what the protocol was in such situations. Did she just go (she had used it the night before but he had been there as well – clothed, in the living room)? Or should she leave? Writing a note? Not writing a note? Anyway, first, tidying up the couch, fluffing up the pillows and folding the blanket and shrinking her clothes.

She had cast a cleaning and teeth-brushing spell on herself but still – she needed at least a mirror and a loo.

Hermione sighed and in her thick black woollen thighs, she padded into the bathroom – her ears sporting a nice pink colour. Quite unlike the night before, she felt that she had time now to look around.

It was – nice. White tiles. A shower. A bathtub (and yes, she had to force those images of them together in there – washing his hair back – back). A mirror, a sink, naturally, the loo.

From there, she could see all his personal things. Bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo (ha!), razor, a comb, small pots and vials with things she could not identify from a distance, towels. And that was it.

If she compared it to all the things that the girls in her dorm had – or even everything Ron and Harry had put into the bathroom at Grimmauld Place, this was positively Spartan. But it oozed Severus, somehow. The basics. And that was it.

She however, sighed, when she risked a glance in the mirror – and then her sigh turned into a groan. She absolutely disliked her hair in the morning. It was even wilder than usual. Still – she conjured a hairbrush and a two muggle pens. She brushed it out (painfully) and with the pens, she pulled them up.

Half-way okay. She could get through the day this way. She pushed the door open and beamed.

xx

Usually, he went into the bathroom in boxers and the t-shirt he slept in. But with Hermione in the living room – and his quarters designed that he had to get through the living room to go to the bathroom, this was a serious problem.

But he honestly liked his shower in the morning and since it was only shortly after five – oh well – those were his quarters and she was most likely still asleep anyway, he could leave in his boxers and t-shirt. It was not as if he was naked or anything – and he did not possess a bathrobe. Whatever for? He lived alone. No need for such a thing.

Besides, he had the ability to walk very, very quietly and once in the bathroom, he could still cast a silencing charm and let her sleep a little longer. And, as the annoying voice reminded him, he wouldn't really mind seeing her sleep. She always looked so peaceful, so serene when she did. Since he had seen her sleep on multiple occasions before, he could surely stand the sight. Or – to be more precise – he actually looked forward to it.

Pushing the door to his bedroom open, he simultaneously ran his fingers through his hair and then rubbed his eyes.

Still, when he opened them, his personal worst case scenario just came true.

She stood there, in the door to his bathroom – in her skirt and blouse and smiled widely. She seemed, bad, bad, completely unembarrassed. And he knew he had to act this way too – it wouldn't do for her to realise that he was not comfortable being seen like this.

"Good morning," she said brightly, "your couch is very comfortable."

He nodded. "You're a morning person?"

"Not necessarily, but I slept well," she grinned. "You're not, eh?"

He grumbled – hiding his embarrassment. She could just leave, couldn't she? But at the same time – he did not want to throw her out. Not at all.

He grimaced when he realised that he wanted her to stay, wanted to have breakfast with her here, talk to her.

"Well, if you would call Dizzy and tell her to get some breakfast," he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Erm, yeah. Sure. What would you like?" she asked, the surprise – delighted surprise – written all over her face and her body language – well, her hands were by her sides or somewhere on her face and she looked quite, quite relaxed.

"Just coffee," he grumbled and strode, as dignified as he could into the bathroom.

Severus sank onto the edge of the tub and shook his head. She had taken it so – in her stride. She had just smiled and talked and beamed and talked. And she hadn't even stared so much. A little, at his legs, and his stomach and his chest and the stubble on his face – but she had, the way he saw it, not looked at – well. But due to his Occlumency – and pushing back thoughts of her sleeping next to him, naked, he had managed to, well – force it down.

He rubbed his temples. When had he changed?

Nobody – nobody but Poppy Pomfrey and occasionally Minerva or Albus had seen him in less than long trousers and a shirt. And usually even then, he had worn more than he did now. He never had allowed it.

He had never – apart from some women in the distant past – allowed anyone to see him in so little clothing – and even they, well, some of them had seen them naked but not in his nightclothes. In boxers and a t-shirt for heaven's sake! That was the most private thing he had – what he slept in when he was alone. Really. He knew that some students speculated about it, that they invented the most amazing stories about him, not sleeping, hanging upside down from the ceiling while sleeping.

Anything – but who would have thought him sleeping in muggle clothes?

And she had seen him.

'Be reasonable, Snape,' the voice interfered. 'She will not tell anyone and didn't you see the approving glance she gave you?'

'Of course she won't. But don't you see?'

'I saw her,' the voice replied immediately. 'When will you realise that she likes you a lot?'

'She likes me alright. As a friend, she said so.'

'A friend, my friend, does not look at another friend that way.'

'You're saying that she feels...'

'Yes,' the voice seemed to nod quite viciously.

'It can't be,' he said with an air of finality and undressed – he needed a shower. And a clear head.

xx

She smiled to herself. So – that mystery was solved. Boxer shorts in black and an equally black t-shirt. And that looked – quite amazing. His legs – a bit on the thin side, black hairs on them, his stomach flat underneath the t-shirt, his shoulders broad, his arms – she had never seen them bare before.

And even though she had hid her shock probably quite well – she certainly hoped that he had not seen it – the large, pink scars on his neck. There weren't as prominent as she had thought – but still there and she had felt, once more, the strong urge to hug him, tell him that everything would be alright – and kiss his neck.

She shook her head and walked over to his large table. Why did this man have a table with eight chairs around it? Was he – the entertaining, dinner party type?

She snorted to herself – sure. That was why he always had time for her.

He always had time for her.

Hermione's eyes widened significantly. He always had time for her – he let her into his private lab, his private quarters, he let her sleep on his couch and he let her see him in her nightclothes. And if that wasn't intimate and personal, she didn't know what was.

It wasn't only the bare skin – but to let her in on that secret, what he wore when he was himself – himself the most. While he slept, while he was basically defenceless – that was – mind-boggling.

She sat down on one of the chairs. "Dizzy?" she called and almost immediately, the elf popped in.

"Miss Hat-Girl," she muttered.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Good morning, Dizzy. Professor Snape asked me to order breakfast."

"Will comes up in a moment," the elf replied without waiting for further instructions and vanished again.

"That did not go as expected," she muttered and heard the shower running.

When all was said and done – this was a very bizarre situation. Her – Hermione Granger – in the rooms of the teacher she had believed to strongly dislike her for – six years? Seven?

Quite, quite bizarre. Surreal.

But no, he did not dislike her any more. And she liked him too much.

She groaned – she needed to get a clear head. Decide what to do. Decide whether to tell him – and destroy what they had, so tentatively, grown into – or keep her trap shut – and hopefully one day get over it.

Simply because she seriously doubted that he even could feel remotely the same way.

Though – oh no, not the same thoughts again.

"Patience, Granger," she whispered to herself and she knew that she had to be.

xx

"You're in quite the good mood," Harry remarked that afternoon. Hermione had gotten permission by the headmistress to spend the afternoon at the Hog's Head – after she had moved all her things to another room – a private room for her. It wasn't in the Gryffindor Tower but part of the main castle – on the fourth floor. It was fine by her – and to be quite honest, she didn't care – as long as she didn't have to sleep with Ginny in the same room any more and she could cast her own wards – and her own protection against any intruders.

Ron, mainly.

She had taken her books to the Hog's Head. She could not concentrate anywhere in the castle and the dungeons were out since Severus taught during that afternoon.

So she had flooed there – from the headmistress's office.

"I am in a good mood. And I would be in an even better mood if Ron wasn't at the castle."

Harry stared and waved his wand with a glimpse at his patrons – better, apparently not to be overheard and Hermione agreed.

"Ron is at the castle?" he asked, his elbows resting on the counter.

"Didn't you know?" she asked and pulled parchment and books from her bag. "He's going there again. Finishes his seventh year."

"You're not serious."

"I am," she raised her eyebrows.

"Ron? Back at Hogwarts?"

"Harry, pay attention, will you? Ron is back at Hogwarts to finish his seventh year. I doubt he'll make it but he's there."

"Why?"

Hermione shrugged. "Can't be his love for knowledge."

"Are you alright?" he asked concernedly. "And why are you in a good mood then?"

"Because I hexed him again earlier," she grinned. "When he brought me, get this, chocolates."

"Slow, Hermione, you hexed him _again_? And why would he want to give you chocolates?"

"Because," she sighed, "I hexed him before and he apparently has got it in his head that he wants me back. And he's trying that by giving me chocolates," she replied off-handedly.

"Too much information all at once," he muttered. "Ron's back at Hogwarts because he (a) wants to finish his education and (b) because he wants you back?"

"Looks like it," she replied and opened her Transfiguration book.

"And that makes you happy?"

She sighed exasperatedly. "No, what makes me happy is that I hexed him – and that I will not serve detention for it and that I had the most wonderful night and the most brilliant breakfast and that the morning was in total, completely perfect."

"Hermione, as much as I love you, and I do, you are not making sense. How can you enjoy it if Ron is back at Hogwarts? I thought you absolutely did not want to see him again. And what's with Gabrielle?"

Hermione shrugged. "That you have to ask him. And I do make perfect sense."

"Fine," he shrugged. "I'll just ask Minerva or Abe."

"They wouldn't know," she grinned sheepishly. "Harry, I think – something's happened."

He had just turned away, now spun back. "What?"

"I think I've, erm, developed, er, a crush or something on someone."

He raised his eyebrows dangerously. "Who?"

"I can't tell you that," she laughed dumbly. "And it feels so perfect and at the same time horrible."

"It's Snape," he mumbled.

"What?" she shrieked.

"Hermione, be honest, you're always with him, you always talk about him and I asked you before, remember?"

She grimaced. "I don't know when you got that perceptive. Seriously. Six months ago, you would have never noticed."

"Six months ago? It's almost March now, six months ago was – September. No, you and Ron were quite close then, weren't you?"

"Biggest mistake of my life," she muttered. "When I compare him to Severus, I," she sighed, "Harry, I've never felt this way. Or at least I don't think I did."

"Did you just say that you had the most wonderful night and the most brilliant breakfast? Hermione!" he cried scandalized.

She chuckled. "It wasn't like that. Really, what do you think I am? No, I slept on his couch."

"You slept on Snape's couch," Harry hissed. "You slept on Snape's couch?"

"Harry, please. I slept on his couch because the headmistress was down here and I couldn't ask her for another room. I'm not sleeping with Ginny in a dorm."

"You slept on Snape's couch?"

"He slept in his bed, I slept on his couch. Big deal. I thought you wouldn't mind."

He shook his head. "You're in love with him and you slept on his couch? Are you insane? Do you know what you're doing to yourself?"

"What am I doing to myself? He is my friend, Harry, he said so. And he will never know what else I feel about him. It doesn't matter. I enjoy his company. And he apparently enjoys mine. Otherwise he would not have offered that I could stay on his couch."

"He offered?" he was gobsmacked. "Snape offered?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you think I would have asked him? Making puppy eyes 'oh, oh, Severus, can I please stay here'? Again, what do you think I am?"

"Severus?"

"Severus," she sighed. "Harry, I explained, didn't I? We're friends. I call him Severus, he calls me Hermione. That's what friends do."

"Listen, girl, I hate to break the news to you, but if someone, no, someone like Snape offers to sleep on his couch, it most certainly is not friendship he has in mind."

"Don't be daft. He's nice. Or can be. You said so yourself. And he trusts me."

"Should you be telling me this then?"

"I can always obliviate you if you say a word to someone. And that includes Abe and Minerva. And Dotty. Where is Dotty, by the way?"

"Smooth, Hermione, smooth," he replied with a smirk, "but not smooth enough. Seriously, what happens when you find out that he feels the same way?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'll kiss him. And then I'll do my best to keep him."

Harry Potter sighed – and, polished a glass while Hermione turned back to her book and read a paragraph.

"Don't let him hurt you," he said suddenly and stared into her eyes. "Because I'm almost sure he does feel the same way."

She snorted. "I doubt that."

"And Dotty is with her aunt in Diagon Alley."

"You won't interfere?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"No," he shook his head. "He's a good man – but please don't get hurt."

"I won't."

"And if Ron's giving you trouble..."

"I doubt that. He's about a meter tall and blue."

"He's what?" Harry chuckled suddenly and she could only laugh – relaxed.

xx

It was different, being in bed and knowing that nobody was on the couch outside. It had only been one night and yet, he wouldn't mind sharing the table and having breakfast with her more often. All the time.

She talked, mostly, and let him be until he had two cups of coffee – then he had joined her in the discussion.

What he hadn't told her was what the owl was about that had delivered a large roll of parchment just before she had left.

A response by Potions Quarterly. 1500 Galleons for the publication rights to her paper.

Prestigious magazine, a lot of money for an unknown person (even though – Hermione Granger was not unknown – but she was in the art of Potions). But somehow, he had not had the heart to tell her.

No, it was a matter of celebration, yes, but he knew he should have told her. Should not have done it behind her back.

Severus truly wondered whether she would be overly angry with him for doing it. But he had only wanted to give her a chance to get a name in the Potioneers Society. Only – he wasn't sure why he had done it without her knowledge.

And when best to tell her? There couldn't be the right time. Soon.

Or when the magazine came out.

He rolled on his side and closed his eyes – sleep.

xx

The room was quite unfamiliar and the bed, while quite nice, didn't give her the same feeling as Severus's couch.

She groaned and sat up. Oh why did she had to do this? Why did she have to have those feelings?

It was not like anything would ever come of it – and if it didn't – oh, she would have to leave. And she had, more or less, decided to take her teachers up on their offer – letting them teach her further and work from Hogwarts.

A thought suddenly struck her – this could be her room for a long time – if she wanted it. For the next two years or so in the least. And who knew what happened afterwards?

If she was an independent researcher, or did anything akin to that – she could live where she wanted. And the castle was her home. Well, yes, her parents house was nice, would always be the place where she had grown up, where she had been a child but this room, the room she was in right now – was her home now.

She sat up in her bed and looked around. No doubt whatsoever, that, with the right kind of decorating, she would make this a nice place – with another bed.

_**xx**_


	49. Chapter 49

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**I couldn't have written that chapter without the help of tatjana88. Thank you so much, sweetheart!**_

_**xx**_

Hermione couldn't help the groan that escaped her throat. The last class of the day – Herbology – and Ronald showed up with flowers.

Seriously – who had hit him with a Confundus?

Why would she want flowers? And flowers from him? No way in hell she would keep them. Or even take them.

"Ron," she said sternly, "take your flowers to your wife."

"'Mione, Gabrielle is only my wife on paper," he whined. "The baby's not mine and I will not raise a bastard."

"You're the bastard," she muttered, "and I suppose you'll see soon enough if the baby's yours or not."

He looked puzzled – then shook his head.

"Red hair," she quipped and with an apologetic glance towards Professor Sprout, she left the greenhouse and whistled for her owl. Hermes needed to deliver a message. She pulled a scrap of parchment from her robes and scribbled.

Some peace – and a headache potion.

xx

Severus raised his eyebrows when Hermione's owl swooped into his classroom. In his classroom. While he was teaching his second years. The second to last class that day – and he was tired – and exhausted and hadn't talked to Hermione in almost a day.

He missed her calming presence and he was absolutely disgusted by the thought – and yet, Hermes, perching on his desk, reminded him painfully.

He knew she was half-way fine – at least by the way the Wesley boy looked. While Poppy had taken pity on him and had de-shrunk him, the blue tinge to his skin, as well as the green hair and the green writing on his forehead was still very visible – in addition to pointy ears. Hermione was slowly turning him into a Star Wars, or maybe Star Trek character (yes, yes, he had gone to the muggle cinema to see Star Wars – though what the fuss was about, he wasn't sure). And he still, the way he could see it from the staff table and from what he heard, through the staff-grapevine, pursued her. Quite strongly. And he hadn't yet turned mad – or had hexed her back. Not that he could – or could get through her shield.

Still – he glared menacingly at two Hufflepuffs who were taking the liberty of talking while he untied the scroll – or scrap of scroll – from Hermes's leg.

"Five points off," he said quietly and then turned his attention back on the scrap of parchment.

_May I use your lab? Need headache potion._

_H_

Severus closed his eyes for a brief moment. He could let her in – or he could not.

But then again, he had not changed the password – and she knew that. Besides, if she needed a headache potion, a normal headache potion, there was no need to go to the Infirmary – Poppy always hovered so.

He took a decent piece of parchment and a quill and answered, fed Hermes a treat – and after secretly petting him for a moment, sent the little bird off.

xx

She grinned broadly.

_Password is the same. Try not destroy anything – you will pay for it if you do._

_S_

It was so like him, she thought as she unwarded the door and stepped into his lab. It was just as she remembered it – clean, organised, tidy, perfect. Small but enough room for two to brew.

Hermione warded the doors again – who knew who came down here and found her – and what would happen if they did. Whoever it was. Ron was close on her heels lately. Basically all day long.

She sat with her back to the door – she needed the light coming from the enchanted window and lit the fire underneath a cauldron.

Basic headache potion. Not that she had a headache – not yet – but with Ron almost harassing her and she, not being allowed to hex bits off him (the headmistress had been adamant and Hermione knew she was lucky that she hadn't earned a serious punishment for what she had done yet) she would get one sooner or later. Besides, she needed the time away – away from her own room, away from the books and the studying. She just needed – oh no.

Yes, okay. She needed him. Or at least something off him. A day – and she already missed his presence. Ridiculous. So ridiculous.

She sighed loudly – and the sound echoed back from the walls. She needed a moment before she could begin concentrating on brewing.

And maybe – if she was lucky – he would even come down here – or rather, over here (since his classroom was only on the next corridor) – no, better not think about it.

She sighed again and pulled her thoughts away from the mind-head-cinematic image of him rushing into the lab and kissing her passionately, sweeping her up in his arms.

xx

He massaged his temples after the last class of the day. Gryffindor and Slytherin third years. Hated his guts, probably – for the things he had done, or not done, the year before and he could not even blame them.

But he understood Hermione's wish to go to his lab. It was peaceful and quiet and there was no better place in the castle to focus.

He warded his classroom – and took silent steps towards his lab. He liked seeing her work – and maybe he could get in quietly and observe her for a moment before he made his presence known.

He smirked at himself in the empty corridor. She had warded his doors very carefully again – but nothing he couldn't undo with a few simple flicks of his wand.

Silently, he opened the door and, as an additional precaution, he cast a mild silencing charm on himself. She would not hear the rustle of his robes, nor his footsteps on the stone floor.

And there she sat – in her blouse and skirt, her back to him, stirring idly in a cauldron. He couldn't see yet what was bubbling but nobody stirred a headache potion this way. Maybe she had gone on to something different. Probably a cramp-relieving cream – women usually always needed that sort of thing.

Her shoulders seemed slightly slumped and the way she sat – if that did not induce backache, he wasn't sure what did. He suddenly felt the strong urge to just rush over to her, put his hands on her shoulders and rub the tension, the so obvious tension away.

No, instead he composed himself and silently, he moved a little closer.

xx

She would finish up the potion she was working on, a simple antacid, basically, and then she would leave – a long bath, probably, get the tension away from her shoulders. She wasn't really sure why she was so tense, why her back hurt this way. But yes, she had waited for him and he had not shown up.

Not that she had really expected him to sweep in, her off her feet, and to kiss her. He wasn't that impulsive, he wasn't this way – but just to talk to him would have been nice.

Oh well – he was probably busy with correcting essays and well, she could always go to the dungeons after dinner or so. Not that she had any reason, really, nothing had happened – but then again, what if he needed to talk about something?

She was so selfish really – only thinking about seeing him because she thought she needed to talk about things.

Her hand went to her neck and rubbed the tense, stiff muscles there. She had no idea how long she had sat over the cauldron – after the headache potion, she had made cramp-reducing potion (she preferred the potion to the cream) and now the antacid.

Enough for one day probably.

Suddenly, she felt something against her ear, a brush of something against her shoulder and she whipped around in fear. What if someone had undone the wards and was there for her? It was not as if she was completely safe – there were still some Death Eaters out there but then her elbow connected to something soft, and hard and – oh God. Her eyes widened when she saw who exactly was behind her.

"Oh Severus," she gushed and the man she had thought about all day stood right behind her, or rather crouched right behind her and held his wand in his right hand and clutched the left to his eye. "Oh my God," she added. "I didn't hear you, you.."

He groaned – obviously in pain and one-eyed, tried to glare at her.

xx

He had stalked closer – and had probably never walked more carefully or more silently. He could smell her already, her hair, her skin, the concentration almost tangible in the air. He was so close to her, her scent overwhelming his senses, he wanted to touch her, just run his finger down her neck, her spine, tangle them in her hair, wrap a curl around it, wanted to kiss her neck, kiss her hair again. He just wanted to be – close. Holding her.

He shut his eyes closely and frowned to himself. Such thoughts would never do.

But he could be close now – as long as he didn't touch her – and after all – he was known for stalking up to people and surprising them. And after all, she was in his lab – his private area – and he could stalk up on her if he liked.

But suddenly, he was too close, looking almost over her shoulder, bent over, and he knew that for a moment only, his breath fanned against her cheek and that the sleeve of his robes had brushed against her shoulder. Yet really, there was her very being that surrounded him, not only her scent but the way her shoulders were drawn up tight, the way her hands held the stirring rod so gently, but at the same time tightly – he couldn't help the unbidden images that flooded his mind. Not very appropriate. Definitely not – and his breathing – too quick.

She noticed and then – he only saw stars for a moment and a piercing pain shot through his head, his eye.

He couldn't help the groan that escaped his lips and she seemed to have noticed him. And her elbow had seemed to make the acquaintance with his cheek/eye.

The pain was so unexpected – so sudden, that he had to groan. But she – she was so – sweet. Caring.

"Severus, I'm so sorry. I didn't hear you coming. I was so deep in thought and concentrated on this potion. Oh God, I hurt you badly, didn't I?" she grimaced at him and clapped her hand over her mouth. "I'm so sorry."

He groaned again and held his hand still tightly over his eyes. It was astonishing, really, how quickly one forgot pain. He had suffered worse from wands of evil, megalomaniac dark wizards but this – was different.

"Accio bruise-reducing salve," she spoke sternly, a wonderful, lovely, tender expression of worry and guilt in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, I really am."

"Yes," he replied and wanted to tell her that it was his own fault – that he had leaned in too close because he was too intoxicated by her scent – but of course he could not. Would not. Instead, all he could so was hold his obviously already blackened eye and look at her with his good one.

"Ah there it is," she said gently – obviously happy with his answer.

xx

She needed to put the salve on him before he began to sport a shiner. It would never do.

Oh God – she had just hit him. With her elbow, yes, and because she hadn't heard him come in and because he just wanted to see what she was brewing. That's what you got for paranoia. Hitting the man you - liked.

"Now," she said as gentle as she could and, with trembling fingers, she pulled his hand away.

"Oh," she whispered and just wanted to lean in and kiss the purplish (already – oh dear) skin better but instead, she dipped her finger into the little pot of bruise-reducing salve and slowly, she brought her indexfinger and her middle finger, the salve almost dripping down from them, to his face, while – and she barely noticed it - her other, held on to his other hand, where he still clutched his wand.

"You can let go of the wand," she whispered and suddenly, her hand moved together with his and the wand was gone.

The moment her salve-dripping fingers connected with the skin, a strange, weird, never-experienced before sensation shot through her body, down her spine, right through to her knees.

The skin around his eyes was so soft, and his eye – closed – one of them - the other looked at her in an astonished way and she smiled and tenderly, as carefully as she could, applied the salve with two fingers. Only – her thumb seemed to have a life of its own – sneakily brushing against his cheek, his jaw and when she wanted to send her thumb an admonishing glare, she was just quick enough to see his other eye flutter close. Flutter close. Not just close.

She rubbed the salve in gently, her eyes never leaving his face but it was so peaceful and almost – happy. Her eyes wandered to his lips and she couldn't hide the small gasp that escaped her own lips. They were slightly parted, and his breathing, obviously, was quite rapid, quite shallow and she knew there was only one thing she wanted to do.

Her fingers stopped applying their salve on their own accord – and instead of gently rubbing, they began to caress his skin, her hand suddenly cupping his cheek, her fingertips learning the feel of his skin.

"Severus," she whispered before she could stop and she found herself standing so close – how had she come to stand so close – that her breasts brushed against his chest while one hand was still caressing his face – and the other – the other was caressed by his fingers.

xx

"Hermione," he whispered back and he couldn't remember a time when he could feel someone so close – so intimate standing by him and touching him like this.

Touching him – his face and his hand and caressing it, stroking it, her fingertips fluttering over his skin, and he had – a few moments ago – had to close his eyes. The sensation was almost unbearable, the feeling of her – and he couldn't help but gasp and his breathing grew ever shallower and quicker and he could not help it.

She was suddenly pressed against him, and he could not say whether he had pulled her closer, or had stepped closer or if she had.

"Severus," she said again and before he could reply in kind – could say another word, her lips were on his.

xx

"Severus," she said, her voice not her own and suddenly, she stood a little on her tiptoes and he had bent down and his lips were on hers. Descending on hers. They were not chapped any more but still so warm, so tender and they moved against hers in a way that she had never felt before. It was – mind-boggling – or wonderful – or maybe – something she hadn't known before - something she had no words for. It was – it just was. And his hands, suddenly, his hands were on her back and they pulled her closer and she stepped closer because she wanted to feel more of him, more than his lips, more than his hands on her back, more than his hard chest against her breasts.

She pulled slightly back, brushed her lips over his, then pressed them against his again and needed more. Needed more. Needed him.

xx

Suddenly her lips were on his – she pulled back, pressed them back on his again and he needed her closer, needed to feel her, needed to make sure it was real. He needed to feel her – every part of her body against him to make sure she was really there – that this wasn't just another dream, that Hermione Granger was in his arms and her lips on his – and then, almost as a surprise, her tongue was sneaking, slithering out of her mouth and he had to open his to make sure she was there, to make sure she kissed him the way she did.

She tasted like – spring – like something fresh, new.

No – she tasted just like Hermione and his tongue tangled with hers, slid against hers, and he pressed her against him, so close. He needed her close, he needed her.

He needed her.

She pulled away and his eyes were closed – and his eye didn't hurt any more, it was her lips he missed. Just her lips, even though her arms were still around him – or tangled in his hair.

How had they got there?

"Hermione," he whispered and suddenly, she kissed him again, kissed him, kissed him, pulled him down to her.

xx

She heard him say her name and she needed him – she so needed him. It was so gentle, so tender, so – oh so beautiful. Wonderful.

She crashed her lips on his again and she knew she had never been kissed this way. It was -

Perfection.

xx

"Hermione," he whispered against her lips. "We have to stop."

"Why?", she asked and kissed him again. "I don't want to. I warded the door."

"It's not appropriate," he gasped when she nipped on his bottom lip.

"I don't care," she replied between nips and little kisses. "Severus, I don't care."

"Hermione," he breathed. "We have to care."

"No," she replied. "And why am I arguing with you when I could kiss you?"

"Hermione," he pulled away, but astonishingly, her hand remained at his neck.

xx

Her expression turned serious and it did not fit to the otherwise thoroughly kissed look she had on her face. "You're not going to push me away, are you? Oh, you are," she breathed. "Don't. Please, Severus, don't."

He stood and stared at her – so beautiful. But he couldn't speak. His tongue was tied – especially when she stood in front of him like that – so beautiful.

Hermione.

"Don't run away, don't push me away," she almost begged. "I can't explain but it wouldn't be right to run off."

He sighed – too many things going through his head – and then, nothing at all.

It was on impulse that he opened his arms wide and she stepped in. She wrapped her arms around his waist – and Severus knew she was right. He couldn't explain either – but it wouldn't be right to run off. And it wouldn't be right to push her away.

His nose buried itself immediately in her wild hair and he took a deep sniff of the scent that had forced him in this position in the first place. His eyes shut again and he merely held her - as he had done before, as they had done before but yet there was something different. Something he could not put his finger on at that moment - something he could not name immediately - something as silly as intimacy - as silly as security - as silly as trust.

"Hermione," he whispered her name for the umpteenth time and she looked up, her chin on his chest and smiled.

"Do you agree with me now?"

He grunted - and couldn't even tell whether it should have been a real word - or just a confirmation if what she had said. It was true - all his dreams of the last few days could come true.

Yes - she would leave him eventually for someone younger, someone more sane, someone nicer, someone more wholesome. But for the time being, she was in _his _arms.

"We have to be careful," he said wisely.

"We will be," she half-promised, still looking into his eyes. Then, she sighed and suddenly, she had pulled him to her again and their mouths were on the other - kissing - just kissing.

_**xx**_


	50. Chapter 50

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**Thanks, tatjana88 – you're a big help, as always, sweetheart and thanks for being honest about the horrible first version of this chapter!**_

_**xx**_

Reluctantly, Dotty pulled away. "Harry, Auntie Rose asked about us."

"What?" he asked, sneaking up on her again and hugged her again.

"She asked about us. And I didn't know what to say," she replied and put her hands against his chest. "Can we talk about it, please?"

"Alright," Harry grinned and pressed a kiss on her lips. "Talk."

Dotty blushed slightly. "I don't know. Are we serious? Am I just – I don't know, a replacement for what's her name? Or what?"

Harry fell silent – and serious. "You're no replacement, Dotty," he said urgently. "I feel closer to you than I ever did to anyone."

"Yes," she took two steps back. "But that's just it, isn't it? It's all so quick. And fast and I don't know..."

"Don't know?" he asked and stood rooted on the spot. "What?"

"I don't know, I don't know," she spoke quickly, "it's so quick and we're so close and it's..."

"Creepy?"

"No."

"Horrible?"

"No."

"Surprising?"

"Astonishing?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful?"

"Yes," she sighed, "but it's so quick."

"It's been two months."

"Two months, two months is nothing," she exclaimed. "Don't you see? Auntie Rose thinks I might be rushing into it because I'm prone to do exactly that..."

"I'm not. And we're not rushing into anything. We're just...us," Harry stepped tentatively forward. "If you want to take it slower..."

"I don't. And that's just it," she breathed. "It's perfect as it is. And yes, that's scary."

Harry grinned lopsidedly. "So what are you saying? That it's good the way it is?"

"Yes. But tell me what you think."

"I think I already did," he moved in front of her and slowly, began to hug her again – this time, she did not pull away or move back – no, she just let herself fall back into his arms. "I couldn't imagine myself with anyone else."

"Neither can I," she replied, looking in his eyes.

xx

"Mister Weasley, a word," Minerva called out to Ron in the corridor. The former red-head turned around and she had to suppress a giggle – or full-blown laughter. He was blue – his face, his hands, his neck, everything that was visible, he still had the word on his forehead in bright green and his hair matched the colour perfectly. Besides, his ears were pointed and the colours of his eyes seemed to be somewhat odd.

"Professor McGonagall?" he asked, and walked slowly towards her. It really looked – nice.

"I can see that Miss Granger has not taken well to your being there," she remarked, glad that the corridor was otherwise empty.

"She always was a bit stubborn but I'm sure she'll come round."

"Round?" she asked – her eyebrows raised. "Round to what, Mister Weasley?"

"I want her back," he replied frankly. "And I know she's angry with me. I understand that. But she'll see the light."

"The light, Mister Weasley?"

"That I am the one she loves. And that she's the only one I love," he said wisely.

"I think the colour of your skin and your hair proves that Miss Granger is not, shall we say, interested?"

"That's just because she's still angry. It takes a while with Hermione."

"You don't mean that," she replied – annoyed by the young man. "Do you know who you're talking about? With all due respect," she continued, "but I wonder whether you know what you are doing."

"I do," he grinned. "Is that all?"

She nodded resignedly. "That's all."

He grinned. "I got her a gift. Do you know where she might be?"

"Certainly not," the headmistress huffed, and walked away rapidly. Weasley was – delusional. And she wouldn't lift a finger if Hermione decided to hex him further. And she would certainly discourage all other teachers from punishing her. No – he deserved all he got. Even though she probably shouldn't say it out loud.

Instead, she rushed into her office, glad that her day's work was done and that she could floo to her husband – eat with him, and probably spend the night with him.

Running the school and being a wife at the same time was easier than she had thought. But then again, Aberforth had made it easy. He was happy (as was she) – to be with her whenever she had time – he never pressured her, never forced her. Let her work when she had to – and relaxed her when she was stressed.

She sighed and took a pinch of floo powder between her fingers and stepped into her fireplace after warding the door to her office.

"The Hog's Head," she called and was immediately taken away by green flames.

xx

Hermione sank on her bed. It had been mind-blowing, wonderful. But – but he had sent her away. Not pushed her away – he had said that (not in so many words – but still) and it had been a little awkward. True, he had kissed her again, or she had kissed him, but then he had told her to go studying, go write her essays (otherwise she would, he had said so, arrange for her to have detention with Filch).

She knew he had to think – and maybe thinking about this wouldn't harm her either.

No, on the contrary. It would do her some good. She had gone down there to brew a simple potion. And now, the potion was back in his lab, with him, while she lay on her bed – face in the pillows and sighing deeply – melodramatically.

Maybe she shouldn't have gone down there in the first place. Oh yes, she was the one who had told him not to push her away, not to run away, but now, in broad light in her own room, she wondered whether it had been the right thing to do. Kissing him – no, snogging him. He was her teacher. He was a friend.

Never, never, never start something with a friend. It destroyed the friendship. It destroyed something lasting – for something temporary, something that might hurt, could hurt. Would hurt. See Ron.

It always, always, always ended badly. The one wanted more than the other – and the other couldn't give it. In a friendship, there were clear-cut rules. And not entering a relationship with said person was – the very first.

But –

But –

He could really kiss. And she had felt so real when he had held her.

"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid."

Hermione Granger hit her second pillow with her fist before she whacked it over her own head.

She so would have to serve detention with Filch. There was no way she could concentrate on her work now.

xx

Severus sank on the chair at the worktable and, after making sure his door was warded securely (after he had sent her away nevertheless), he let his head fall forward and rested his forehead against the surface of it.

Why – why had he not told her to get out?

No, wrong.

Why had he allowed her to touch him, to apply the bloody salve on his skin in the first place?

He was a man – underneath all those robes, yes, he was a man – and, despite all the appearances, despite what everyone thought about him, despite his reputation – he still felt. And had felt the stirring of something.

Something entirely inappropriate. And all the Occlumency in the world couldn't have helped him there (but that's what robes are for – after all).

He had allowed something to happen which should have never happened. Not at all. She was his student.

But then again – hadn't they already established a kind of friendship? And hadn't that already overstepped the boundaries of the normal, acceptable student-teacher-relationship? Wasn't she already calling him Severus?

They had – clearly – already broken the rules. And still, a kiss – this kiss – no, those kisses – mind-blowing. Something, a memory, something to put into a pensieve and watch – again and again and again.

'Cheap surrogate when you can have the original,' the annoying voice was back. Obviously. At the most inopportune moments.

'I really don't want to listen to you right now,' he thought back with all the viciousness he could put into a single thought.

'I don't think you have a choice, you twit,' it snarled back. 'Do you know how lucky you are?'

'Obviously not,' he argued and did not even attempt to pull up his Occlumency shields.

'She's a wonderful woman and she more or less told you that she wants to be with you. What more do you want, Snape? You're standing in the way of your own happiness.'

'That's what I do,' he replied snarkily.

'That's what you should stop doing, you self-destructive bastard,' it sounded very angry. 'A lovely, wonderful, beautiful young woman kisses you and you tell her to go study. Smooth, Snape, smooth.'

'Stop with the alliterations already.'

'If you stop sitting down here, pitying yourself and go up to her and kiss her and tell her that you help her studying,' it said with an air of finality and then – it was quiet.

He sighed and buried his face in the sleeves of his robes.

xx

Minerva stepped out of the floo – and this time, she couldn't help the grin to spread across her face.

"Mister Potter. Miss Rothaus," she said simply, startling both of them – and the flew away from where they had kissed passionately. "No one here today?"

"We closed early," a blushing Harry told her. "Abe is upstairs."

"Thanks," she grinned. "Oh, Harry, I think I need a word with you later. Concerning Mister Weasley."

"What's he done now?" Harry groaned.

"He's convinced that he can win Miss Granger's affections. Again."

"Still? I heard he was small and blue and had green hair?" Dotty chimed in.

Minerva snorted quite unladylike. "He's not tiny any more. But he's definitely still blue. I think it would be helpful, if you, Harry, could talk to him."

"Talk to him? No. On the one hand, he cheated on Hermione, then got married, now he wants to cheat on his wife with Hermione? Don't you see how bizarre that is? And on the other hand, he won't listen to me anyway. This entire _success_, he's had, has completely gone to his head. It's not that I don't want to help Hermione, but I think she can deal very well on her own with that. Seeing that she has a strong ally at Hogwarts anyway."

"Strong ally?" Minerva asked curiously.

"Do I hear my wife?" Aberforth came down the stairs and grinned when he saw her.

"Who's the strong ally?" Minerva asked again. "Severus?"

"Of course Severus," Harry shrugged. "Do you honestly think that Ron has a chance against those two?"

"I'm not sure Severus will help her," she voiced her reservations.

Aberforth grinned and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Of course he will. He's entirely smitten with the girl and you know it. Harry knows it. Dotty knows it. She doesn't – and unfortunately, he doesn't."

"I know? I didn't know," Harry almost shrieked. "He's, erm, in love with her?"

Aberforth shrugged. "I wouldn't go so far – yet – but the principle is the same and he'd do most anything for her."

"He's...oh no. Oh no," Harry sighed.

"Why? What's...?" Minerva shook her head. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing's wrong with it, technically, is it, Harry?" Dotty threw him a threatening look.

"No, no, technically, nothing's wrong with it. Headmistress, what is the policy about student-teacher relationships at Hogwarts?" he asked suddenly.

Minerva sighed understanding immediately. "They'll both be hurt beyond belief," she said simply and turned to her husband. "Are you sure?"

"Of course he likes her. Didn't you see them dancing? Erva, I'm not having this conversation again. If they find the way to one another, I dare you to break them apart."

"No, alright. I won't. But I swear if Severus is insufferable, intolerable and obnoxious, I'll send him here and you teach Potions. Mister Potter," she turned her head. "there is no clear policy. And since Hermione is of age and is coming back voluntarily, I will not interfere, as long as her grades are still acceptable."

Harry looked grim. "She'll get hurt."

"She won't. I don't know why you're all so against this. I agree with Abe. They're both grown-ups and should know what they're doing. And you're talking as if you already know that they're together. Maybe none of them will ever..." Dotty spoke and shook her head.

Aberforth nodded but interrupted her, "Have the courage to say anything at all. And neither of us will do or say anything."

xx

"You don't really want her to be with him, do you?" Dorothy asked, pulling Harry into his room.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I am not sure. I think that they'd be perfect for one another and I do want her to be happy – but then again, I'm not sure if he can make her happy. Hermione's so vulnerable at the moment. She took the entire war, the thing with her parents, losing people, so hard and she doesn't have an outlet."

"Maybe he's the outlet. Didn't you say that they spent a lot of time together? Probably they talk a lot?"

"I doubt Snape does talk at all," Harry muttered. "And they'll never be able to talk like we do."

Dotty groaned. "Look, you and Minerva, I don't get it. I've heard both of you say how Severus Snape deserves acceptance and affection and whatnot and now, here's Hermione who might feel something for him – and you're suddenly both saying that nothing good can come of it."

"Nothing good can," he argued. "I told you about him, didn't I?"

"Yes, you told me a lot and I've talked to him briefly and he just struck me as someone who's built barriers around himself because he's lonely. Lonely, misunderstood and he most certainly feels used. What if she's one of the few people, or maybe the only person who does not tell him each day about the war and his role and who helps him not being lonely. And who says that they're suddenly starting a passionate affair? She didn't seem to me to be that impulsive and he is probably the most controlled person I've ever met."

He nodded slowly. "You're probably right. He will never admit it if – and I'm still saying if – he has feelings for her and she's grown cautious after Ron probably."

xx

She really couldn't help it. She hadn't really wanted to cry but she knew that with those bloody kisses down there, she had, effectively, quickly, in record-time, destroyed a friendship.

A friendship she had desperately wanted, she had treasured.

Over now.

He would return to his snarky ways and his dislike of her Gryffindor ways – of her hand-waving and knowitallness. And she would return to just being his annoying student. And he would – no – he would remain Severus. But there would probably be a Severus and a Professor Snape again – and those two persons would be completely different. And she would probably never see Severus again.

No – he had just sent her studying. She was painting everything in black and white, most definitely. Nothing was lost – yet.

She needed to remember, however, to take it slow. It wouldn't do to rush him.

And yet, the thought of losing Severus caused new tears to fall – and she quickly wiped them away.

xx

After hours, probably, he slowly looked up. He hadn't been this lost in thought for months. No conclusions yet.

Well – no – there was one. He did not have it in him to push her completely away. He had grown used, apparently, to her presence, no, well, while he was being honest, he could just as well admit that he craved her presence.

He looked around his lab. It looked just the same as it had before they had kissed – except...

His eyes widened a fraction.

'It's a sign,' the voice chanted. 'A sign. A sign.'

He rolled his eyes – but deftly, quickly, before he could change is mind, he took the two vials of potion she had filled earlier, pocketed them and with long strides, made his way up the stairs.

xx

There was a knock on the door and she swore under her breath. "If that's Ron or Ginny, I cannot guarantee not to use an Unforgivable."

She wiped the last remains of the tears away, knowing she would probably still have traces of them on her cheeks and at the moment, frankly, she didn't care. She got up slowly and, her wand poised, she undid the wards first, then quickly thought about which hex to use first on Ron – if it was, most likely, him at the door. Somehow, he had found out where her new room was (she supposed that he had it from Ginny, who had it from Honoria, who had it from a Ravenclaw called Charity, who had it from Luna) and that morning, there had been chocolates again in front of her door.

A nice petrificus would do – for now.

She cracked the door open – then opened it wide. "Severus," she breathed, then shook her head quickly, "Erm, Professor Snape."

"You left these in the lab," he replied gruffly and took two vials from his pockets and only then – looked at her. "Have you been crying?" he asked and pushed her aside, into the room.

"Erm..."

"Why did you cry?" he asked and grabbed her upper arms tightly. "Was the Weasley boy here again? Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head and suddenly felt very foolish.

xx

Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy and puffy, her hair a mess and she had apparently changed into jeans and a jumper – not her school uniform any more. But she looked so – vulnerable.

"The Weasley girl? Did any of them hurt you?"

She shook her head again. "Severus, no. No one was here."

"Then why did you cry?" he asked urgently and shook her by the upper arms.

She sighed and looked into his eyes. "I was, er, scared and afraid."

"About what? Hermione, if the Weasleys do anything..."

"It wasn't them."

"What did Potter do?"

"I haven't seen Harry," she replied tiredly and looked on the ground – new tears apparently threatening to fall by the way her shoulders heaved.

He stared and it seemed as if suddenly, the penny dropped. Him. She had cried because of him. But why?

He had made it clear that he was not pushing her away, hadn't he? He had kissed her good-bye – as softly and as gently as he could. And here she was, crying, because of him? How had he managed to botch it up so quickly?

"Hermione," he whispered. "I didn't mean to."

She looked up and she bit her lip hard. "You didn't do anything. I ruined it."

"Ruined it?" he repeated.

"Everything," she shook her head quickly.

"You're not making sense," he shook his head. "I just came up here to bring you your potions."

She sighed. "I didn't ruin it?"

"The potion's fine," he replied.

"The potion's fine?" she asked again.

xx

Her face brightened and she understood. Severus was using 'potion' as a metaphor. He couldn't say it – or wouldn't – clearly, so he had resorted to something they both understood. A sort of code-word.

"I'm glad it's fine," she smiled beamingly and stepped forward, directly into his arms. "Thanks for the vials and telling me that the potion's fine."

xx

He had now clearly misunderstood something. But – no, he didn't – didn't want to – understand. She clung to him again, the way she had done before – after the disaster with her parents, after that letter of recommendation he had written, that afternoon. He couldn't help himself and brought his hands slowly up to her back – and his fingers, of their own accord, began to move up and down – almost – caressing her back.

"Thank you, Severus," she looked up and kissed his cheek.

He didn't know what to say to this – but he knew how to respond to her lips on his cheek. He bent forwards slightly, kissed her softly and tightened his hold on her only briefly.

"Good night, Severus," she said then.

"Good night, Hermione," he whispered back, and, with a look back – and a little smile – he left her room.

_**xx**_


	51. Chapter 51

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Severus slept amazingly well – and there were no dreams, though he wouldn't have minded one or two about her. It was simpler in dreams – but no, none of them. Still – he was in a rather good mood, despite everything – and he was quite looking forward to – his first class that morning. First years – Gryffindor and Slytherin. And that was a class full of little Longbottoms. And since he wasn't head of Slytherin any more, since that horrifying sword of Damocles – or the Dark Lord – was not looming, hanging over him any more – he had absolutely no reason to prefer one to the other. And everyone knew that in that first year class he took more points than any teacher in any other class.

And it was – fun.

No – just because he had kissed Hermione the day before and since that made him somewhat - content, didn't mean that he had to be nice to his other students. Or to Hermione when she was a student. No, he certainly would not be nice to anyone. He didn't know how to be nice.

He scanned the Great Hall as soon as he entered it for breakfast – and there she was, looking up for a moment – blinking slowly. He had put a slight glamour on his eye – and the slight bruising could not be seen. She looked for a moment – and her face betrayed no emotion at all.

That was the bright Hermione he knew. Smart, thinking, trying not to be too impulsive. Trying being the operative word. But seeing that she only blinked, she had understood the seriousness of their situation – the absolute need for secrecy for the time being.

And of course he blinked back. He had no other choice.

"Good morning, Severus," the headmistress greeted him almost as soon as he had taken his seat.

"Morning," he grumbled back. No, it wouldn't do to show that he was more awake than usual – and in a better mood than usual.

"You're quite the sunshine again today, aren't you?" Pomona Sprout leaned over and grinned at him.

"As he always is," Minerva replied and turned then fully to him. "You do have a free period this morning, do you not?"

He nodded sharply – and was relieved to see a cup of coffee suddenly standing in front of him. He took a sip, then cleared his throat. "I have the first period first years and after that, I have two free."

"Very good," she smiled a little forcedly. "I have to talk to you. If you'd come to my office, you'd save me a trip to the dungeons."

He hid his feeling of alarm quite well – he had warded the door – he had only kissed Hermione in his lab – and her door was securely locked when he had brought her the vials – nobody could have seen them. And they hadn't done anything else apart from in those rooms.

"What is it about?" he asked, trying to sound as bored as possible – and to his ears, succeeding quite well.

"Oh, this and that," she replied non-committally. "I'll see you then?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, if you must," he drawled but from the corner of his eyes, he saw Hermione looking at the staff table interestedly. If this was about them – he would have to inform her immediately. Though what to tell her, he wasn't sure. In case of discovery, would he end it? End what hadn't really begun yet?

No, she was of age and she wasn't legally forced to be at school – she was here on a voluntary basis and that seemed to make all the difference in the by-laws of Hogwarts. Yes, yes, he had checked them the night before. He knew what was allowed and what wasn't.

Had she been in her sixth year and still legally at school – he would be fired and she expelled. If she had been in her seventh year and not – in legal terms – redoing it – he would be dismissed and she expelled. But since she was 19 and had officially finished her education after not returning for what would have been her seventh year – nothing would happen.

Still – it would complicate things. And he wanted to avoid this desperately. Even though, in his opinion, the rules were stupid and quite namby-pamby, wishy-washy. As were those expressions.

Inwardly, he rolled his eyes – and that rolling only intensified when the voice cleared its throat.

'Planning the future with Hermione?' it asked.

"So, Severus, I hear you made another sixth year cry?" Pomona Sprout leaned over and thankfully, shut the voice up.

He shrugged. "It's a gift," he remarked off-handedly, then knew he had to try this. Had to make sure that not all was forgotten – that he was, once more, an accepted part of the teachers of Hogwarts, "So, Pomona, hugged any second years lately?"

"Constantly. Not only those. They all need a hug. Especially after their potions class," she replied, her eyebrow an elegant (if slightly dirty – was that mud?) arch. "You should try getting one once. It can be really nice."

He arched his eyebrow equally. "Hugging students? I'd rather help you out in the greenhouses. Or wear muggle clothes for a week."

Minerva seemed to listen intently to their conversation (not difficult since she was seated between them) and she turned to him. "You wouldn't."

"I would," he replied. "Most definitely."

She grinned quite catlike. "You're not serious. A two-second hug from one of your Slytherins..."

"They're not my Slytherins any more and they do not hug either. We're just not _hugging_ people," he sneered.

"Alright – a two second hug from any student of your choice or muggle clothes for a week and you would go without your robes?"

"Without a doubt," he drawled. "But since I'm not in the position to have to choose, the point seems quite irrelevant in any case."

Minerva seemed to think for a moment, then glanced at Pomona, obviously thinking about a way to get him to do either.

"Forget about it, headmistress," he interfered as soon as he noticed. "I will not do either because I do not have to do either of those things."

His gaze swept across the hall again and Hermione was focused on her breakfast, and then talked a little to Miss Lovegood. She sat, again, at the Ravenclaw table and he could understand her quite well – Weasley had just entered the Hall – a leer on his face and he made his way straight to the Ravenclaw table – and to Hermione.

Severus knew that hexing him now would be detected. Both Pomona and Minerva were more or less focused on him and he needed to look at the Weasley boy – even if he jinxed him wandlessly and silently.

So – he decided on another tactic. He nudged Minerva with his elbow and with his head, nodded towards where Weasley was approaching Hermione.

"And what do you intent to do about this?" he asked, mockingly.

"I had a talk with him yesterday," she sighed. "He is still of the opinion that she is merely angry but still loves him."

He sneered. Before yesterday, probably, he would have felt – differently. But he knew – instinctively knew (and well, she had told him) – that she certainly did not love Weasley any more.

"I know, I know," Minerva threw her hands in the air slightly, "I know she's much too sensible and will not get back together with him and that she certainly does not love him any more. But even Harry refuses to speak to him."

"So you'll just let him stay? You do realise that this reflects negatively in her school work?" he suggested – knowing this was the only way he could get through to the headmistress about this matter.

"That's right," Pomona nodded vigorously, "she left my class early, well, actually before it had begun, yesterday because of him."

"You didn't say," Minerva turned to her Herbology instructor. "She did?"

"And she did not attend charms the day before," Filius Flitwick chimed in.

"You honestly have to care more about your _favourite_ student than that, headmistress," he drawled. "If it continues that way, she will not get her exceptionally good NEWTs and I will not teach her next term. I only agreed to do this because I thought she was one of those few students who really care about learning, but if..."

"It was your idea!" Minerva exclaimed. "It was your idea we educate her further here."

"Yes, obviously. Because I thought she had potential but Weasley following her around like a – dog – I can't see her using her entire potential and I will not teach her," he replied with arrogance – arrogance he knew was expected. "Now," he continued and stood up, "I have classes to prepare. I take it you still want to _talk_ to me?" he asked the headmistress and after she nodded dumbly, he strode out of the Hall, smirking to himself.

Nobody – really, nobody could suspect him of liking Hermione more than he should.

xx

"Bludger," he said to the gargoyle, and it sprung aside and allowed him up the spiral staircase.

His class had been – good. 75 points taken in total. 50 from Gryffindor, 25 from Slytherin. 4 detentions – two each. Two girls had started to cry after class. Complete success.

He did not hide his smirk but it died on his lips when he stood in front of the door to her office. He knocked – didn't fancy walking in on a snogging Minerva and Aberforth again and carefully, pulled up his Occlumency shields. Hermione was still very prominently featured in his thoughts and it would not do for the headmistress to see them kissing.

"Come in," she said from inside and the door swung open. "Ab's in the Head."

"Wonderful," he replied sarcastically and sat down in a chair opposite her. "Talk."

"What's with you and Hermione?"

He groaned. "Not that again. She sometimes needs some quiet time away, especially now from the Weasley boy and I let her brew."

"Do you love her?" she asked and stared at him.

"Utterly ridiculous, headmistress. I do not love. And this is why you forced me up here?" he asked – scandalised and it wasn't completely make-believe. No – he did not love Hermione. He wasn't sure what he felt for her but it was not love.

'Yet,' the voice screamed.

It was – at best – affection. Not love.

'Yet,' the voice screamed again.

"So, is this it?" he asked again, clearly annoyed.

"Ab thinks you like her a lot and I just want to..."

"Headmistress, I do not know what you talk about with your husband. And frankly, I do not care but just because I let Miss Granger into the classroom when I am in my office grading to allow her to make up for her two zeroes this year already, does not mean I _love_," he spat the word, "nor particularly like her."

"You danced with her!"

"Because you will cheer for Slytherin," he argued immediately. "And not because I particularly enjoyed the experience."

She sighed. "She likes you. Harry says."

"Potter blabs on his best friend? It's no wonder then that she seeks refuge in the dungeons," he sneered.

"Severus, he thinks she might be in love with you," she said, very seriously.

"And? She's quite sensible for a Gryffindor. I'm sure she will not jump me and even if she does, I assure you, I can very well defend myself."

"That's not the point and you know it," she growled angrily. "If she gets hurt now – I don't know what she's going to do. Do you know what that girl went through in the last year?"

"Not more than any one else," he replied coldly. "And trust me, I do not encourage her to come and see me."

The headmistress sighed. "Maybe it would be good for you to fall in love with her," she mused and when he wanted to protest – she held up a hand, "no, let me finish. Or anyone else for that matter. It would not hurt you to let down your guard and let a woman in your life."

He sneered bastardly and tapped his fingers impatiently on the armrest of the chair. "Is that all now?"

"Yes, that's all. I'll just have to tell Ab and Harry and Harry's girlfriend that you're still heartless."

"Do that," he smirked.

"Severus!" she said sharply just as he began to get up. "I swear if you continue this way, you and Ab will swap places for a week."

His smirk grew. "Do that and you'll ruin his business and probably this castle. He-who-must-not-be-named might not have managed to bring it down – or over a century of dunderheaded students but I don't doubt that a week of Aberforth Dumbledore teaching potions wouldn't."

He left the office quickly after that – leaving a fuming headmistress behind. He knew he would have to make peace with her soon again, would have make sure she wasn't truly angry. But let her think that he was absolutely mad at her for even insinuating such things.

Loving Hermione.

Sure.

xx

He sat in his office after classes when there was an owl tapping on his door. With a flick of his wand, it was let in and he allowed himself a smile when he saw that it was Hermes. He warded his door and petted the bird as soon as he settled on his desk.

"You are very much like your father," he told the bird softly when he saw him raising his owl-eyebrows. "Do you have something from your mistress?" he asked the Hermes lifted his little foot and let Severus untie the scrap of parchment.

"Yes, this is from your mistress. I need to tell her to use decent pieces of parchment – not those scraps."

The owl hooted softly and hopped on his shoulder.

"Thinking you can get comfortable up there?" Severus asked immediately but let the bird rest there as he read the note Hermione had written.

_S,_

_I don't know the protocol or what this is so I'm not sure whether I can just come down. Can I? _

_H_

He smiled. "She always did before, didn't she?" he asked the owl and the bird nipped at his hair affectionately.

"And she's very confused. As am I," he mused and wrote a reply himself. It was short and to the point. And basically just repeated what he had already told the owl.

_You always did before. _

_S_

That should be enough. Even though - "do you think it's enough for her? She cried because of me yesterday."

She frowned, then added _Why change now?_ To the note and tied it to Hermes's leg.

"Bring it to her, will you?" he asked and with his wand opened his door again and watched the bird fly gracefully away.

She would come to him again.

And hell, yes, he had waited all day for her – to see her, to talk to her.

Damn – damn – damn.

He just couldn't resist, could he?

And damn again – he still had not told her about the potions magazine and her article.

xx

"Hello," she said shyly and walked into his office.

He nodded towards her. "Good evening."

"I didn't see you at lunch."

"One of the third years managed, once again, to melt her cauldron. And I had to clean up down here."

She looked a little worried and reached out to take his hand on top the desk. "Are you alright?"

He nodded. "She didn't even hurt herself. They never do," he grumbled. "Hence I had lunch here. Dizzy was most forthcoming."

It was – astonishing – to see someone caring for his well-being like this. It hadn't happened in a long time. "You didn't get hurt?"

"It has been years since I was in any way hurt in my potions classroom," he reminded her sharply.

"I didn't mean to imply..."

He shook his head. "It's just an annoyance to always have to clean it up afterwards, especially since I am forced to let any of them go to the hospital wing and they are never here to tidy their mess before my next class."

"Oh, poor Severus," she said compassionately.

"I don't need pity," he growled.

"I'm not pitying you. I'm telling you that I feel for you. Which is not the same," she replied brightly. "I'm not very good at pitying."

"Good," he grunted and looked at her intently. How to ask her if there was a special reason that she was down here without offending her? "Is there any particular reason you came here?"

"Erm," she blushed a little (and he had to admit that it looked quite nice) "actually, yes, there is that," she pulled a scroll of parchment from the back-pocket of her jeans.

His breath almost caught in his throat – what if the bloody potion magazine had written her directly as well? Oh – he had some explaining to do.

"What's that?" he asked gruffly.

"A letter I got from – drum roll – Gabrielle Weasley."

He raised his eyebrows. "Gabrielle Weasley?"

She nodded – and snorted, then pushed it towards him. "Read."

He looked at her quizzically but when she only smiled almost grimly and nodded vigorously again, he unrolled it and with his usual care, began to read.

_Dear Hermione,_

_please excuse my bad writen English, it is worse then my spoken one. I have heard that Ronald is come back to Hogwarts and I do please ask you not to start with him again. I do not know why he run away from me. We had the little fight, bisbille, and he misunderstands me. Thinks our baby is not his. But it is. Please, Hermione, I love Ronald. J'aime Ronald. Do not start with him. _

_Bisous,_

_Gabrielle_

"I have not expected this," she said honestly when he looked up with arched eyebrows. "And I have no clue what, or if, to write back."

He fixed her with his gaze. "What do you think you should write?" he asked – and – waited impatiently for an answer.

"That Ronald Weasley can go to hell," she huffed. "What do you think?"

"It matters little what I think, Hermione," he replied and retreated farther back.

"But it does," she sighed, "I don't know why the headmistress allowed him back. He doesn't even try to pay attention and his idiotic attempts on getting me back – or probably getting me in the first place – he can keep those to himself. Last night, when you brought me the vials – thank you again, by the way – I was ready to imperius him. Just to have a day where I can concentrate on classes and things that are more important."

"Miss Hermione Granger saying out loud that there are things that are more important than classes?" he asked sarcastically.

"Well," she smirked, "maybe not more important but it is fairly important to me to know that I can still come down here whenever I want."

He rubbed his temples – a gesture he only rarely made in front of others and closed his eyes for a moment. "Hermione," he began – and suddenly, she was standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders.

"I mean it," she whispered in his ear.

He didn't know what kind of devil possessed him in that moment, but he leant backwards and found that the back of his head was resting against her – her breasts. It was the probably the first time that he had deliberately sought out her contact – her body. Well – not quite. But in a non-kissing situation.

'It's like coming home, isn't it?' the voice asked gently and he just closed his eyes when he felt her beginning to rub the tense muscles at his shoulders.

xx

He was truly truly relaxed and while this was not as – passionate – overwhelming – as those kisses had been – this was infinitely more – intimate. Revealing a weakness – even if it was just tense muscles – was not something he was used to.

He raised his wand and warded the door securely before he closed his eyes tightly again and concentrated on the sensation she was creating with her hands – over his shirt – his coat – and his robes.

_**xx**_


	52. Chapter 52

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Hermione was not sure what to do with the letter in her hands. Yes, she wanted to reply, yes, she wanted to tell Gabrielle that she could have her Ronald back at any day – and gladly – that she would even pay for him to leave Hogwarts again – but then again, it was a barely concealed threat.

Keep your fingers off him.

Not that she would ever – ever! - touch Ronald again.

No – now that she had had a taste of what a man – a man! - could kiss like, she never wanted to kiss (or more – but she could not judge that yet) a boy any more.

Luna, after reading the letter had only smiled dreamily and said: "I'm glad that someone still loves Ronald."

And after that, she had left, without saying another word and once more, Hermione was slightly frustrated with her Ravenclaw-friend.

But the sheer effrontery of Gabrielle Weasley – no, she would not take that sitting down. No, she would write her back. But it wouldn't be a simple letter of 'you can have him'.

Though – there was someone she wanted to consult but since their relationship (or potion, she snickered slightly) had changed, she wasn't sure how appropriate it was to just go down there – to disturb him – to actually want to talk to him on another level, not just to brew.

Well, yes, she had always talked to him but now – now it was different.

xx

She smiled happily when she got his reply. It sounded so like Severus.

_You always did before. Why change now?_

_S_

So, between them, nothing had changed, well, apart from the obvious. But – but if they could remain friends, if she could still talk to him the way she had done – wouldn't this be too good to be true?

Relationships didn't work this way, did they?

Still – she made her way quickly down to the dungeons, almost bouncing happily.

xx

It was almost – almost - a flirt and she could not help himself. Severus looked so tense, and in a flash, she stood behind him, with her hands on his shoulders. That man definitely needed a good back rub.

What surprised her beyond belief was the fact that he seemed to relax so utterly, so completely, within a second and even let his head fall back against her chest, his eyes closed – and they opened only briefly when he warded his door.

"Relax," she whispered softly and her hands, her fingers began to work on his shoulders – though how he could even feel her touching him was completely beyond her understanding.

Slowly, she moved her hands to his front, never breaking the contact and pushed the robes off his shoulders. His eyes snapped open and they looked at her questioningly – slightly disapprovingly.

"Trust me," she whispered, "only the robes, okay?"

His eyes closed again – for only a brief moment – and his head fell back into its normal position, leaving her grinning and, astonishingly, after a moment, he began to unbutton his coat – and – shrugged out of it.

Hermione chuckled quietly, took both the robes and the coat and put them carefully on the desk – far away from any open inkwells. She stood then immediately behind him again and her hands, began to work on his shoulders again.

It was – despite everything, mainly the shirt between her fingers and his skin – something beautiful, something intimate. She had never expected him to open his coat, to sit in front of her in his shirt – to let her touch him this way, so openly, just so...

His shoulders were broad and strong and, even through the shirt, warm and her fingers moved on their own accord, squeezing, rubbing, stroking, caressing, just touching him, touching him.

Unbidden, the comparison to Ron came to her mind again. This was a sort of intimacy, a sort of quiet contentment, she never had with him. The head-mind-cinematic image of her, with him, sitting quietly, reading, only looking up once in a while, smiling, maybe, he would let himself fall – and would put his head on her lap and she could, eventually, run her fingers through his hair – not wondering the entire time if she was going too far. She couldn't go too far with Ron – but also it was never possible to sit quietly with him. During the summer he had always torn around Grimmauld Place with Harry and when he had sat down eventually – it was mostly about the one thing. Nothing like that here.

Her strokes became more tender. This was so simple, it really was. And, it was not forbidden after all. Yes, she had checked after he had kissed her. Since she was no longer under the rules of compulsory school attendance and was of age, this was completely alright. The by-laws were such, that she could, without anyone able to complain or throw them out, neither him nor her. Since the NEWTs were graded by the -

Her thoughts were interrupted when he suddenly made an odd noise – something in between a grunt and a moan and a sigh.

"Severus?" she asked immediately and he only hummed once more. "Oh dear," she noticed the tight knot at his neck. "Right here?"

"Yes," he sighed. "Oh Merlin."

She grinned. To reduce such a man to a noise like this – and with her hands only – it was a heady feeling and it made her bold. Peeking at his face, she saw that his eyes were still tightly closed – his lips parted a little – and that made her even bolder.

Slowly, she let her hands glide to the front and a little clumsily, undid the first two buttons of his shirt.

"Hermione," he growled and with reflexes worth of a seeker, captured her hands in his – and, to her great surprise, entwined their fingers, rubbing gently and pulling on her hands. She leaned forward, her chest resting on his shoulder as her fingers caressed his – and were caressed by his.

She breathed deeply, his scent, so familiar by now, tickled her nose, and she leaned so far forward that her face was next to his, her cheek for a moment resting against his and her temple against his.

"Thank you," he whispered almost huskily and his thumb stroked over her fingers swiftly.

"My pleasure," she replied breathlessly.

Her heart was beating wildly in her chest and her eyes closed impulsively. Being so close to him was divine and she realised in that moment, in that particular moment, that while he might push her away, while they would not live happily ever after – she would enjoy it while it lasted. To the fullest.

Hermione turned her head slightly and her nose nuzzled against his slightly stubbly cheek – and she couldn't help but wonder what it felt like freshly shaved – or just before he shaved. She breathed once more deeply – it wasn't different, only a lot more concentrated and the fleeting question whether his aftershave actually was the source of his smell flashed through her mind before she sighed and quickly kissed him on the cheek. It was more lingering than the night before and she let her lips rest against his cheek for longer than the actual kiss lasted.

Yes, she desperately wanted to say something – but everything that came to mind was too soppy, too idiotic, not fitting the way he made her feel, sitting there, his fingers between hers, her arms around his neck and her hands almost touching his chest.

Somehow – somehow though, something happened apparently, and he turned his face towards her – but despite the comment, the rebuff she half expected, something, anything, suddenly his lips were on hers once more and one of his hands disentangled from hers and was in her hair – pulling her tight, cupping the back of her head, and her hand, the one that wasn't still being one with his, pulled upwards until it came to his neck, stroked, her fingernails lightly against his skin, her fingertips stronger, brushing, touching.

It was, she had to admit to herself before her mind went completely blank as his tongue slipped into her mouth, more forceful than it had been, more possessive, more passionate than their first few kisses had been.

And by Merlin, she did not mind – and kissed back, opening her mouth with equal fervour and she stroked his fingers, his neck, his hair, ran her hand up his scalp, down again, her hands never stopping in their quest to touch him and he never stopped either – his large, strong hand wandering up and down that back of her head, down her neck and over her back – up again, in her hair, holding it, running his fingers through it while the other captured her fingers that were stroking his and held them, gripped them tightly without hurting.

It was her that pulled away first – needing to get a lungful of air desperately.

"Oh Severus," she breathed and rested her forehead against his, her breathing shallow and uneven. His, against her skin, was the same – and he turned his head slightly again after a moment so her nose was against his cheek again.

"Go to the source," he said cryptically a minute of silence later.

"Which source?" she asked, leaning on his shoulder again.

"About Missus Weasley," he replied softly. "Go to Missus Weasley."

"I will not go to that...argh!" she exclaimed loudly and stood bolt upright.

"Not that Missus Weasley. Not the former Miss Delacour. Molly Weasley."

"Why?" she asked, pacing. "About the other Missus Weasley?"

"If someone can reign in the Weasley boy and will know what to do with the other Missus Weasley, it will be her."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Blab on him?"

"No,"

She sighed. "Tell her about it? About the letter and such? That is blabbing."

"It's better than to have to worry about what to write that child," he replied – a little more forceful than usual.

She scratched her chin and pulled her lip between her teeth. "You mean it."

"I wouldn't have said it otherwise," he raised his eyebrows, then pointed at the fireplace in his office. "Please be back before curfew. I don't fancy sitting here after that."

"Now?"

He nodded sharply and still pointed.

"You're right," she said pensively, "If I sit here and think about the letter and what to write back, I'll end up writing something I might regret and I really do not want to use an Unforgivable." She nodded, and ran to his side. "Thank you, Severus," she smiled, kissed him and before she had the chance to change her mind, she had stepped into the green flames.

xx

"Hermione!" Molly Weasley cried and jumped off the couch she had been sitting on with her husband.

Hermione thought she had caught a glimpse of a hand on her thigh but she couldn't be sure about that as she was enveloped in one of those suffocating, motherly hugs Molly Weasley was famous for.

"Molly, you're strangling the girl again," the good-natured voice of Arthur came muffled from the couch.

"Ah, he always spoils it," Molly replied gently and loosened her hold on Hermione. "What brings you here?"

Hermione breathed deeply and pulled the letter from her pocket. "This, actually. And, er, Ronald."

Molly groaned and led her to the couch. She lifted her wand lazily and a moment later, three cups of tea were sailing through the air. Arthur, however, had pried the letter from her fingers and had begun to read.

"So it's true what Minerva said?" he asked after a moment and handed the letter to his wife.

"What did she say?" Hermione asked curiously.

"That Ron's chasing you," Arthur replied, then took a sip of his tea.

"Yes, he does. And I don't like it one bit," she shook her head and sipped equally. "I didn't come here to tell on him, I should handle it myself but I do not know how to handle this," she pointed at the letter. "Gabrielle – I – I mean – she can have him and I do believe that she..."

"Really loves him," Molly exclaimed. "She never once showed her face here. She always stayed in Ireland. Ronald – oh Ronald," she fumed and took off into the kitchen.

"What..." Hermione looked puzzled.

"Howler," Arthur grinned, then turned serious. "I'm afraid that part of the reason that he returned to Hogwarts was really our fault."

"Your fault?"

"We set him an ultimatum," he replied pensively and stopped for a moment to listen to Molly creating the Howler – a very noisy affair after all, "told him he couldn't only hang around here, told him to get a job or get out. The next morning he was gone, with a note saying he had returned to Hogwarts to finish his seventh year. We had no idea that he was going there to – harass you."

She shrugged. "It's not your fault, Mister Weasley."

"Don't you think it's time that you stopped with the Mister Weasley already?" he smiled.

"Erm, thank you, Arthur," she smiled back. "I really didn't mean to come here to blab."

"You're not. Ronald, lately, he's not the son we raised. Not any more and we were both shocked, trust me, when we heard about what he had done. We didn't know about Gabrielle though, she was, suddenly she was there and at first Molly thought that maybe she really was after the fame but after that letter...I'm not so sure any more."

"I don't care what she does or does not do – but Ron does annoy me greatly."

"I heard about that," Arthur chuckled, "Minerva said that he was blue? With green hair? And a word on his forehead?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"So, that's that done," Molly came back, smiling, seemingly relieved. "I wonder about that spell that has put words on both my youngests foreheads?"

Hermione blushed. She had quite forgotten about Ginny – especially since the girl acted almost normally lately. "I, erm, Ginny was on impulse and I am sorry about it."

"Don't worry," Arthur replied and put an arm around her shoulders. "We're certain it will fade."

"And Ginny has not been better lately. But she'll come around," Molly added.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. Those were good people. Definitely good people.

"About Gabrielle, don't worry. We should get in touch with her, Arthur," Molly picked up the letter again.

"And contact a healer. I remember Poppy talking about a new spell that could definitely tell who's the father of an unborn child after the third month," Arthur nodded. "If Ronald has doubts."

Hermione didn't know what to say to this. Turning against their children – to her side? She was stunned and had to admit that Severus had been right – it was the best thing she could have done – coming there.

"Here," Molly handed her a plate of biscuits. "Eat, you look a little peaky."

"Thanks," she smiled and took one. "I'm very grateful."

"Nonsense," Molly squeezed her hand. "If Ronald is the father of her child, she will move here and we will take care of her and the child. And Ronald, well, no matter if he's of age or not, we will bring him home and he will take responsibility."

Hermione nodded and finished her tea. "I should go back but thank you so much."

"If Ron continues to annoy you, just let us know. It seems even with 18, we're not done with bringing him up," Molly hugged her tightly. "Don't hesitate to come here, do you hear?"

Hermione nodded again. "Thank you, Missus Weasley, thank you, Arthur," she smiled and got up.

"Molly, please," she smiled back and hugged her again. "If he gives you any kind of trouble, just hex him."

"Minerva basically promised you a carte blanche," Arthur grinned. "She said so. Woman has mellowed after getting married."

"It happens," Molly smirked. "And Ronnie will see that as well soon enough."

"Thank you. Really, thank you."

xx

Severus still sat on his desk in only his shirt and seemed to be completely focused on his grading when Hermione stepped out of the fireplace again.

"Am I late?" she asked softly and laughed at his frown.

"Can you believe someone would spell Dehydration Draught D-I-H-A-Y-D-R-A-S-H-I-A-N D-R-A-V-D?" he asked grimacing, "and no, you're on time."

"Dihaydrashian? That doesn't even sound like Dehydration," she chuckled. "But you don't brew this until third year."

"Apparently, there are still some illiterate baboons in third year," he groaned. "And?"

"And?" she asked and moved next to him, peering at the essay he was grading. "Dihaydrashian dravd is a very nice potion", she read. "At least he spelled Potion right."

"That's only because I told every single students that whoever spelled it wrong will never be able to return to my class and I write it three times on the black board," he smirked. "Trust me, before I did this, there were some who misspelled it every time. Ask the headmistress. The ways Transfiguration is spelled sometimes..." he complained and Hermione was, once more, surprised how open he sometimes could be.

"I will," she smiled and sat half on the desk. "Thanks for telling me to go see the Weasleys."

"So?" he asked again.

"Yes. It was a very good idea," her tone became softer. "And Ronald Weasley will get a nice Howler from his mother tomorrow morning, I guess."

He only raised his eyebrows and nodded curtly.

"No, really. I never thought they would be on my side against their children. But apparently, they are."

"The Weasley are Gryffindors. And as such, their sense of justice is somewhat too strongly developed."

Hermione rolled her eyes and slapped his arm playfully. "It's still nice," she said softly. "And it was very nice of you to tell me to go."

He harrumphed non-committally but took her hand that was still resting on his arm. She bent down and kissed his cheek. "I'm glad."

"I'd be glad if those dunderheads would learn to spell," he growled.

"Want me to help?" she asked – almost completely free of ulterior motives. Almost.

He shook his head. "You should study, Hermione," he replied and squeezed her hand.

She sighed – pulled her wand from her pocket – and still daring from earlier, summoned the chair to her and pulled her shrunk Transfiguration book (yes, yes, she carried a book around everywhere – one never knew when the situation to study presented itself) out of her pocket and sat down on the chair, a smirk firmly in place.

"Hermione," he said threateningly.

"Please? Just until curfew."

He rolled his eyes but when he stayed silent, her smirk grew and she opened the book, next to him, in his presence, glad that he had not sent her away.

xx

"Severus?" she asked a few minutes later.

"Yes?" he drawled but didn't take his eyes off the parchment he was grading.

"Can we do this more often? I mean you letting me study or revise down here?" she turned suddenly very shy.

He was quiet for a moment, then another moment and another. A minute and Hermione was ready to pack up her book and her notes (balanced precariously on her lap – there was no room on his desk and she did not want to impose even further.

Another minute or so passed and she had gathered all her things together, ready to leave.

"It would seem prudent to transfigure something into a desk next time," he replied and her mouth fell wide open.

"Really?"

He arched his eyebrow and suddenly, he had stood up – and in front of her. "I thought you were so bright that I did not have to repeat everything?" he said quietly and his lips descended on hers slowly.

xx

It was a little past curfew when she made her way carefully from the dungeons to her rooms – and she did not notice the smirking face of the headmistress when she left Severus's office.

_**xx**_


	53. Chapter 53

**_The usual disclaimers apply._**

**_xx_**

"RONALD WEASLEY!" the howler began to to sound through the Great Hall and every single head turned towards the former red-head that now sported blue hair and bright pink ears. "IF YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN TREAT YOUR WIFE AND UNBORN CHILD THIS WAY, YOU'RE VERY MUCH MISTAKEN! YOU MIGHT BE OF AGE BUT I AM STILL YOUR MOTHER AND VERY MUCH CAPABLE TO BRING YOU BACK HOME IF YOU DO NOT START BEHAVING TOWARDS YOUR FRIENDS AND STOP CHASING OTHER WOMEN! ONE MORE TOE OUT OF LINE AND WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME AND YOU WILL BE GROUNDED UNTIL YOUR CHILD IS GOING TO HOGWARTS!"

Hermione risked a glance but to Severus – and her, well, her whatever, smirked slightly and the headmistress next to him could definitely not hide her grin.

"Poor Ron but I'm afraid he's had it coming," Luna next to her said softly. "He'll probably stop giving you chocolates and flowers now and will stop trying to spike it with potion."

"Spike it with potion?" Hermione's eyes almost bulged. "Did he try that?"

"Ron's not the most talented when it comes to potions. He should have asked your friend."

"My friend?" Hermione asked, again, crossing her fingers internally. It had gone so well. And Luna – finding out about them.

"Professor Snape, who else?"

"Why should Snape be my friend?" she asked testily – too testily.

"Because he took more points off of you than usual lately and he's meaner to you. And there are always the Hotzies – and you have a lot surrounding you and he has a lot and they're quite friendly to one another."

"Ho – what?"

"Hotzies. They're like Nargles only different and a little smaller but they fly around your head – and they don't have the same effects that Nargles have. Hotzies only go to real smart people and those who tend to think too much."

"Erm," Hermione really couldn't think of anything smart to say about imaginary stupid little things that apparently (not) flew around her head.

"It's okay, you don't have to believe me," Luna replied happily. "It's just that those signify friendship. And I'm glad you're friends with him. Apart from you, he's much fairer to the rest of us."

"That's good to hear," Hermione said sarcastically, but remembered, clearly, the night before. Well, the evening, not the night. She wouldn't have minded the night but then again, well, if he didn't force her, or made her, or begged (been there, done that), she would wait as well. That would be fine. Really. Fine. Fine.

But honestly, seeing him sitting up there, his evil smirk on his face – she remembered his kiss and how he held her and embraced her and how it had all been.

"Luna, will you tell Flitwick that I had to get my books from my room if I'm late? I forgot them," she smiled apologetically.

"Sure," Luna nodded but before the blonde could say more – Hermione had already left the table and rushed down the aisle between the tables and she stopped just in time not to run into – Ronald Weasley.

"Did you go to my mother?" he asked angrily, his ears still pink.

She breathed deeply. "Will you let me through? I forgot my Charms books up in my room and would love to get them before class," she quipped impatiently.

"No. I was patient. I was more than patient, I let you hex me until I didn't even look like myself again but I will not be patient now. Did you talk to my mother?"

"Yes, yes, I did," she replied angrily. "I did because there isn't one single day that I can completely concentrate on learning something. You're always there with flowers and chocolates and what's next? Poems? Or will you just skip the entire act and pour love potion down my throat?"

He had drawn his wand quickly – but so had she.

"Don't threaten me, Ronald Weasley. You're a married man and I'm not the sort of woman who breaks up a marriage. You're about to be a father and you just run away. Don't blame me for refusing to be with you. You broke it up in the first place. You cheated, I didn't." She lifted her wand a little higher. "Now, will you let me through? I think there's a sleepy Hufflepuff first year that hasn't heard us yet."

"First you'll listen to me," he said – coldly – and his eyes were steely, flinty, "I made a mistake. I just made one mistake and you're not forgiving me. Everybody deserves to be forgiven one mistake. Hell, everybody forgave Snape that he murdered Dumbledore and he didn't even say sorry."

Hermione shook her head angrily. "I can't believe you're comparing yourself to him. Let me through!"

"No," he said simply. "Not until you forgive me my one mistake."

"Fine," she huffed. "I forgive you your _one_ mistake."

He eyed her suspiciously. "I don't believe you."

"Fine," she shrugged. "Can I leave now? Or do you want to make a bigger spectacle yet?"

She was very aware of the fact that everyone was watching them – that every single pair of eyes were on them and she was very much aware that he had mentioned Severus – and that she had not explicitly defended him. "Ron, let me through please," she repeated and tried to walk around him but he gripped her left upper arm.

"I want you back, Hermione," he said softly, "I'll divorce Gabrielle. She's a child."

"That carries your child," she pulled her arm out of his grasp. "Leave me be. I do not want you."

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't mean it. You were the best thing that's happened to me."

She shook her head and quickly – very quickly – sidestepped him and rushed out of the Great Hall when she felt – just before she was out – a sharp pain in her back. It took her a moment to catch her breath – but since the pain was quite similar to what she had experienced on good days when the weather changed and she still hadn't had the potion she had made with Severus, she carried on.

Hermione didn't doubt for a moment that Ron had hit her with something – but she wouldn't let him see that. She would just go – not to her rooms. She couldn't find out by herself what he had done. But she knew one person who could.

xx

He smirked at Molly's howler – that woman's voice made every of those nice inventions even worse. And Minerva next to him – that woman's giggle turned into a howler would make every dark wizard the world would ever produce want to commit suicide.

He returned quickly to his breakfast however, seeing that Weasley was probably embarrassed to the bones and seemed to want to leave the Hall as quickly as possible.

Only – Hermione – suddenly – shouting – made him look up and he saw her, standing, held back by the damn Weasley, almost outside the Hall already. They fought – and Hermione wanted outside. He only saw her back – but he knew her quite well by now and she was really struggling not to hex him in front of the entire school.

"I made a mistake. I just made one mistake and you're not forgiving me. Everybody deserves to be forgiven one mistake. Hell, everybody forgave Snape that he murdered Dumbledore and he didn't even say sorry."

"I can't believe you're comparing yourself to him. Let me through!"

He blinked quickly – twice. But yes, that was something the Weasley boy would say – and something Hermione would say – however – he wasn't sure what he had expected. Telling everyone that he had no choice? Defending him?

He shook his head inwardly. Of course she couldn't do that. To the school, they were no more than a normal, regular, annoying, if bright, Gryffindor student and the ugly, evil git of the dungeons. And they'd have to keep that up – of course she could not defend him.

But - _I can't believe you're comparing yourself to him_ – that had a nice ring to it. But of course nobody would be daft enough to compare him to Weasley.

He didn't pay attention for one second – and the next, she he saw a faint red light from Weasley's wand and Hermione stopped – for only a moment, until she ran away.

She hurt. He had hurt her.

White, flashing, bright rage overcame him and he glared at the headmistress. "Do you see what this _menace_ is doing?" he said angrily and stood up before she could say a word but he heard a faint, shouted, "WEASLEY!" before he slammed the back door to the Hall closed.

He ran – well, not quite, but walked very quickly – up to her room. Damn staircases kept moving in the wrong direction and as he stood in front of her door – and undid every single ward, and used his default password. It opened almost every door in the castle – at least all the classrooms and doors to the student rooms. He growled when he found it empty.

"Damn, Hermione," he muttered and tried to push this odd feeling away – he couldn't quite explain what that feeling was – a sort of burning in his stomach, combined with an emptiness as if he hadn't eaten too much, or maybe almost heartburn after having eaten too much. No, this was odd.

'Think, Snape, where did she go lately when she hurt?' the voice – for once – said something sensible.

'I don't care,' he snapped – then knew what to do. "Hermes," he called and waited.

xx

She grunted. It was like – bad spasms. Like she had fallen hard on her back – like – someone was hitting it with a blunt instrument. The first sharp pain had subsided and it was replaced by a dull throbbing. It made her gasp, and she had difficulties breathing.

"Monkshood," she tapped her wand against the door to Severus's office and was glad that she had paid attention to the new password. Not that it was terribly creative but still.

She pulled herself inside and made sure to ward the door again – no, she might be in pain but she wasn't stupid.

Floor. Lying on the floor made the most sense. "Ouch," she said to herself and for the first time, could draw a deep breath when she lay on the cold, hard, stone floor.

xx

'See, I told you to look where she's always going when she's heard,' the voice said triumphantly when Hermes led him straight to the dungeons, straight to his office. 'You're just lucky that nobody saw you tearing through the castle in frantic search of the girl.'

'Shut up,' he growled and unwarded his door.

"Hermione," his voice sounded breathy, he knew – and there might have been a tiny gasp when he saw his – whatever she was to him now – lying on the floor. Flat on the floor. "Hermione, get up."

"Can't," she smiled crookedly. "It hurts less down here."

"What did he hit you with?" he asked, warded the door and knelt down next to her. "Did you hear any incantation?"

"No," she gasped as she tried to lift her head a little. "Didn't hear anything. Just sharp pain, then dull pain. But it's better down here. Really is."

He shook his head and cast a warming charm on the floor she was on – and a little around where she was lying – and on her. "Is it bleeding?"

"It's on my back, Severus. I can't see but it doesn't feel like it. First it felt like the Cruciatus after-effects but not any more. Now it's more like – I don't know. Back pain. Bad, bad back pain."

"Lumbago?" he asked and as careful as he could – took her arm and tried to turn her around.

The odd feeling in his stomach had somehow settled – decreased – not vanished – and he knew somehow that he felt relief when he had seen her, still breathing, still alive. At least half fine. But he knew he would not be completely in peace until he knew what he had hit her with.

"Severus, don't. Hurts," she gasped when he tried to roll her around and grasped his hands. Her eyes bored into his. "And I don't know if it feels like lumbago because I've never had it."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "It would make it simpler if I could test the area where he actually hit you."

"I know," she breathed deeply and, fixing her eyes on his, she wanted to turn around. "But flat is not that painful." Hermione reached up with one of her hands and with the back of it, caressed his cheek. "Thanks for finding me so quickly."

"I went to your room first, silly woman," he growled and pointed his wand at her. "Now, hold still."

She nodded, closing her eyes, her hand cupping his cheek.

Severus didn't speak the incantation out loud, he didn't need to and a second later he knew that it had no sense.

"You have to turn around," he said as gentle as he could.

"Okay," she grimaced and as soon as she had finished speaking, she turned on her belly. "Like this?"

"Fine," he took her left hand in his, still kneeling by her side and with his wand, waved over her back and concentrated on the spell. It would reveal what spell had hit her – or at least what type of spell by making the tip of his wand glow in various colours.

A moment later, it began to glow in a faint red – almost pink – the same colour the spell itself had had. This told him that it was per se not a spell which would kill but could cause pain. Narrowing this down, he cast another spell – which would narrow it down further – and he would do this as long as he knew exactly what spell hit her – except...

"Hermione, you said you could breath better on the floor? And that it doesn't hurt so much when you lie flat on the hard floor?"

"Yes," she replied, turning her head slightly and looked up to him, grimacing.

"And Weasley played professional Quidditch?"

"Yes," she nodded and groaned.

Severus thought for a moment, then poked her legs. "Can you feel that?"

"Yes. Are you a healer?"

"No," he snorted. "But I've been sitting next to Minerva at meals for quite a fair few years and that woman keeps me informed on quidditch."

"What's that got to do with this?"

"Patience, Miss Granger," he said and cast another spell. As his wand glowed white, he cleared his throat. "This is a quidditch spell. Well, no, technically it's not. But it is used by quidditch players, or managers to weaken the other team severely."

"What is it?" she grunted and slowly, turned back on her back.

"Sciatic neuritis," he said with a smirk.

"What? Sciatica? As in inflammation? As in what old people have? This hurts to much?" she groaned and sighed.

"Yes. I'm afraid he might not have done it correctly and in addition, slipped your disc," he replied softly and hesitatingly, brought his hand to her forehead and he brushed a few strands of hair away. "You should go to the hospital wing."

"I don't want to move," she shook her head and closed her eyes.

Severus had to admit to himself that he the feeling in his abdomen had gone away. This was a matter of days, really. Even Poppy could not heal it as quickly as other things, since the inflammation took a while to completely leave the body but it was nothing life-threatening, nothing permanent. Still – seeing her like this, pale, on the floor, it made something snap inside of him. He bent forwards and with a fingertip, touched her cheek, her lips. "It'll be alright in a few days and the pain will be gone soon."

She nodded, her eyes tightly shut. He couldn't help it, really, he couldn't, and bent even further down and kissed her closed eyelids, the right one first, the left then, just as gentle as he could, just as he had done before. She smiled a little weakly.

"I didn't really provoke him. I just wanted to..."

"The entire Hall heard you. Both of you," he interrupted. "Nobody can blame you for this."

Her eyes snapped open and she looked up in his eyes. "Thank you."

He shook his head. "I don't understand all that thanking all the time."

xx

She groaned in pain, then focused on Severus again. "You don't have to understand," she replied, "Only accept it."

"You really have to..." he was interrupted by a knock at the door. "See?" he hissed. "You should have gone to the hospital wing in the first place."

Hermione grunted and tried to get up.

"No, you stay there," he hissed and undid his wards before he got up and opened the door by hand. "Headmistress," he sneered. "How nice."

"Is she here?" Hermione heard her say and suddenly, the door opened wider and in an instant, Minerva knelt where Severus had just been.

"Why is she lying on the floor? Severus, did you put her there?"

"I put myself there," Hermione replied meekly. "It's the only position I'm not in pain."

"What happened? Did Mister Weasley hit you with something?"

"Creadolodorsum," Severus snapped.

"What?" Minerva replied angrily.

In the meantime, Hermione got up with greatest difficulty. The pain from her back shot down her legs and it made it hard to walk – but still – what had she been thinking coming down here instead of going to the hospital wing? Everyone had probably seen her being hexed – brilliant idea going here – really. Even though, well, his worry had been sweet, very sweet and he was certain of his – affection – but the headmistress here now? Not good.

"I'll just go up to the hospital wing," she said suddenly.

"Don't move," both of them said at the same time.

"It's better now," she replied, pressing her hand to her lower back. "I'll just need a pain potion."

"And why did you come down here in the first place?" Minerva asked suspiciously.

"Pain potion," she fibbed quickly.

"She can only use a special one," Severus added gruffly, "because of the Cruciatus Potion. And Madam Pomfrey does not store it."

"Oh," Minerva nodded – and Hermione could see the hint of a smirk.

"It was stupid to come down here first, I know, but I couldn't think straight," Hermione replied apologetically. "Was the first thing that came to my mind but I'll go up now," she hobbled to the door.

"Minerva, will you bring your student up to the infirmary or will I she lie on my floor soon again?" he sneered. Hermione shot him a quick look, no smile, no wink, nothing, just a look and slowly left Severus's office.

xx

"Would you care to explain while she really went straight to you?" Minerva asked suddenly – after making sure that Hermione was safely under the care of Poppy – she had returned to the dungeons. While she had not had the chance to talk to either Ab or Harry yet – and as Molly Weasley's howler had interrupted breakfast – she hadn't had the chance to corner Severus about Hermione leaving his office late the night before. But now, free period for him and a little time for her, she would.

"Pain Potion," he repeated bored. "I told you."

"And why did Poppy detect none in her system?" Minerva asked. "And why did she have trouble walking the past few meters?"

He made a non-committal noise and stuck his nose back into the book on the desk and Minerva could feel her temper boiling – she disliked being lied to – she disliked if someone tried to hide things from her.

"Severus!" she rushed forward and banged her flat hand on his desk. "I don't care about your antics. Will you tell me why she came down here?"

"I do not care for you losing your temper," he replied icily and looked up with equally cold eyes.

"Then just for once, be honest and come right out with the truth. She gets hexed, her back hurts that way that she can barely walk and I can completely understand because Weasley is even too dumb for the simplest of spells, which, we both know, Creadolodorsum is, that's why it is used so often in quidditch, botches this up and causes two of her discs to slip, plus a nice Sciatica, and she drags herself down here, instead of the hospital wing – or her room – both of which are closer?"

"That's for her to answer, not for me," he drawled.

"I asked her. Unfortunately after Poppy knocked her out. And now I'm asking you and I won't leave until I get a satisfactory answer."

"Fine," he spat, "fine. You heard her earlier. She did not think. She said so herself."

"Fine," she spat back, "and why did she leave your office yesterday after curfew?"

xx

He fixed the headmistress with his eyes – Occlumency shields up – and knew that he was losing it. That this was – the end of something. "Compared to you – and all the other Gryffindors I know and knew – Miss Granger is a forgiving and kind person," he said quietly, softly – without losing the edge of danger in his voice - ,"and she has gone to great lengths to befriend me. Me, Minerva. As outlandish as this may sound to you, Miss Granger comes here when she is in need of quiet and peace. She comes here if she needs comfort. She did turn to me, Minerva. She, compared to the rest of you, trusts me again. She understood what has happened and why it had to happen, and she did so without tearful, hypocritical apologies, without humbling herself and ridiculing herself. Is that reason enough for you? Or do you need more? Miss Granger is my friend. And don't start again with the 'do you love her' tripe. The answer to that is no. But I have accepted her as my friend, which is a lot more precious to me than anything else."

He stared at her – wishing he hadn't said all that suddenly – but, it could not be undone. Still, there was a way.

"You will find my resignation on your desk in the evening. I will not continue to work in an environment where I am still distrusted."

_**xx**_


	54. Chapter 54

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

"You're not serious," Minerva stared at him in astonishment.

"As a heart attack," he replied in a voice that could freeze over hell. "Would you get out now?"

"I will not accept it," she huffed and got up in a billow of her robes that was reminiscent of him. "People here trust you."

"Yes, yes," he drawled. "Absolutely. Get out."

She shook her head and stormed out of his office. Insufferable man. Ask a simple question and he reacts with a resignation. How very dramatic. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that he could go through with it – but why?

It couldn't have only been because she had asked – because she suspected that Hermione and he – were something more than just student and teacher, or could it?

It was true that some of the teachers still did not really talk to him, but that hadn't been different before all that ugly business, that nobody had trusted to give him the spot as Head of Slytherin any more – though she could not remember the exact reason for this. He wasn't the most likeable of characters, especially when he didn't let people getting to know him.

But she had tried again, hadn't she? And her apology had most definitely not been hypocritical.

Minerva knew that his decision had something to do with Hermione – and she would probably tell her.

No, she did not want to lose Severus – not as a teacher – and not as someone she trusted.

Because – for Merlin's sake – she did. She had turned to him when she had to decide about Ab and he had helped.

Had he forgotten about that again? How could she tell him that? She hadn't talked to anyone but him about this.

"Resignation," she huffed to herself. "No way."

xx

"No fair Dotty today?" Abe asked Harry as he walked into the Head after ordering more butterbeer from his supplier.

"No, no fair Dotty. She went to London with her aunt. Madam Rosmerta has decided to show her the difference between Scotland and England – since she still has it in her head that Hogsmeade's in England," he replied chucklingly.

"Interesting," Abe chuckled as well and summoned a cup of tea from the kitchen.

"She wants to move in together with me," Harry sighed.

"And is that so bad? Don't make my mistake, Harry."

"No, it's not that but it's been such a short time and I don't have a flat or house here."

Abe chuckled again. "Do you think I don't realise when she spends the night here? Or that Rosmerta doesn't? Trust me, we both do and if we had complaints, neither she nor I would have hesitated to say something."

Harry blushed. "Oh."

"Yes, oh. Still, we do not mind. And if you want to expand your room, or make a second one, just let me know. This old house is a bit tricky with the spells."

"Ab!" there was the loud yell of his wife from the backroom and he looked questioningly at Harry.

"My dear wife seems to have trouble again," he smirked and wanted to push the door open, when his formidable Erva stomped into the room herself.

"He's resigned now," she cried and threw her hands in the air. "He just resigned."

xx

Severus's mind was working at triple, quadruple, maybe, speed. Resigned. On a whim. He never did things on a whim. He always thought things through, twice at least. Why not now?

He should have never returned – that was the simple answer. Some things, Weasley was right, were not forgiven, even by the truth. Some things, like pretending to betray the cause, like killing _the_ figure of the Light, the most popular headmaster of the last 500 years, no, this was not forgiven. No matter how many pensieved memories he let people see, no matter how many times he agreed to be questioned under Veritaserum. He should have never returned. He should have left after he had been healed. No matter what.

He knew that this would cause – trouble. He had no other income. He had the house in Spinner's End – and even if he tried to sell it, he couldn't get enough money to even buy something similar. Nobody wanted to live in such an area these days. He could always go there, start a new potions company under a fake name.

He could do that. Leaving Hogwarts, leaving the home he had lived in for such a long time. No, he would do this. Not that he needed a lot to live on – a bit of food and maybe, maybe he could trick a house elf into coming with him – that would simplify it.

And if all of that did fail – he could always – well – always – think of something. If all else failed, he would start his own pub. If Potter could do it, he could.

He pulled a fresh piece of parchment from the stack and dipped his quill deeply into the inkwell.

_Headmistress,_

_I hereby tender my formal resignation effective this next Friday, March the 13th 1999. _

_Severus Snape, M.A.P._

Mercury would take it up – and he would begin to pack up his things.

xx

She had told the entire story – had left nothing out – not the Howler, not Ronald Weasley's spell, not the way Hermione had barely been able to walk, and not her own stupid questions.

She was very aware of the fact that Harry's temper grew – and that he was ready to hex his former best friend into oblivion but since she kept talking, he had no chance.

"He's been expelled," she said sharply when she saw red spots appearing on his neck. "And Hermione is in the hospital wing. And she'll be fine."

"And you let Snape leave?" he asked testily. "He's Hogwarts inventory."

She sighed. "No, I don't want to let him leave."

"So?"

"Harry," Aberforth's tone was placating. "If Severus has something in his head, it's really difficult to get it out again. And even my Erva can't change his mind."

"I want to. I don't want to lose him," Minerva cried. "I don't. But I know that some of the teachers up there," she pointed vaguely at where Hogwarts was, "they will celebrate when he's gone. They will and there's nothing I can do to stop him."

"You're the bloody headmistress, of course you can. And you should have never allowed Ron back. See where that brought Hermione. With slipped discs and in the hospital wing," Harry began to pace. "I have never been Snape's biggest fan but without him, Hogwarts will not be the same. And heaven forbid someone would have told me I'd ever say this a year ago. But it's the truth. And I have seen his memories. Do you know where he will go to? Where he will stay? What he will do? I've been out of this Hogwarts-bubble. And it's not like teachers glaring at other teachers. Do you know that Draco Malfoy was actually spat at here – just the day before yesterday? A woman spat in his face. He might have been a git and might have done evil things but nobody deserves this. Do you know what will happen to Snape if he leaves Hogwarts?"

"I don't want him to leave, Harry," Minerva put her face in her hands – and a moment later, was hugged from behind by her husband.

"Harry, let it go," Aberforth glared at the young man and Minerva felt strong hands rubbing her upper arms and a kiss pressed against her neck.

"I haven't done enough for him," she turned in her husband's arms and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist. "I just haven't done enough."

xx

It was silent in all the corridors but Severus knew that he still had to be careful. He really did not want to be caught when he went to see a student in the hospital wing. He had not gone to lunch, had not gone to dinner. Had taught his classes – had packed up two shelves worth of books. And she had been on his mind.

Leaving Hogwarts would mean leaving her – not able to see her every day any more.

And that was why he had to see her now, even if she was sleeping. Making sure she was fine, she was alright.

He opened the door to the infirmary silently and once more, cast a silencing spell on himself. But no, there was nobody in there – nobody but her and he saw her immediately, laying on her back, her eyes closed, her chest moving in sync with her even breathing. He moved closer – hoping that Pomfrey was not there and conjured a chair to the side of her back.

'Tell her,' the voice reminded him gently.

He didn't bother answering, just looked at her in silence – her face less peaceful than it had been and he suspected that she was in pain – or had a nightmare. Severus knew that he shouldn't be there, that he shouldn't watch her while she was asleep. But this was different than it had before when she had fallen asleep in his office – he somehow, somehow, felt entitled to be there – entitled to touch her and daringly, he took her hand and laced his fingers through hers.

She sighed in her sleep but did not wake and her facial expression relaxed a little.

'You can't go without telling her,' the voice reminded him.

'I don't plan to,' the replied back in his head, 'but I don't know how.'

He stroked her fingers – watched her sleep, no, he wasn't leaving because of her. If it had only been her – he would have stayed for sure. For her, yes. But after all – it was not only her – it was a sum of things, many. And right now, her – and the lack of a job – were the only two points that spoke for staying.

He reached out slowly and and brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, his fingers barely ghosting over her skin. Severus looked at her – looked and looked and looked. The quietness of the infirmary – and her, lying flat on her back, like a corpse almost – sent chills down his spine. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to find out exactly what he was feeling. An emptiness inside, a sense of losing something precious.

'Who says you'll lose her if you go?' the voice asked – and once more, it was gentle, kind. Not the annoying one he had gotten to know through the weeks.

'She will think I go because of her,' he thought.

'Then you have to make sure that she does not think that.'

'I don't know how. I don't know how to tell her.'

'You have to be honest with her. That's the only way.'

He sighed inwardly. 'I haven't talked to someone openly in years.'

'Since Lily, yes,' the voice replied evenly. 'But it's high time. Hermione will not hurt you the way Lily did. Hermione's different from her and you know it. You and Lily were complete opposites, you and Hermione are two halves that complement each other.'

'Stop being so utterly sentimental,' he scolded mildly.

'I'm not. It's just the way you really feel underneath all those layers of snark, and pretended evilness and behind those walls you built around yourself. That's why you're leaving, Snape. Now that you've had a glimpse of what it can be to have a friend – and a girl – you cannot bear to see all those people hating you, despising you. You've had a touch of what life can be..."

'Utter rot,' he thought viciously. 'This is not about that.'

'Then what is it about?'

'About never should have stayed in the first place. It was idiocy. Imagine killing the headmaster and staying on as teacher. That's the most dunderheaded thing anyone could have ever done. The stupidity. Killing, murdering the person that defined the school – and still being a teacher.'

'You didn't murder him,' the voice soothed. 'And you had no choice.'

'I spoke the words,' he argued and gripped Hermione's hand subconsciously a little tighter, 'I lifted my wand, I had the intention of killing him.'

'You had no choice, he would have died no matter what.'

Severus sighed again – aloud this time – without him noticing and shook his head a little. 'All the more reason to go. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, believes that I wanted to do it nevertheless.'

'You didn't.'

'Of course I didn't. I know this – you know this – but nobody else does.'

'Minerva does.'

Severus looked up to the ceiling. 'Minerva's brain is befuddled and full of love and romance and hearts and flowers. And she dislikes Albus at the moment for keeping her love away from him.'

'Or maybe because she knows the entire story.'

'No,' he argued. 'No. Everyone knows the story from Potter.'

'From Potter. Not from you. Nobody but Minerva and your Hermione here have any close contact to you.'

He growled, his other hand, instinctively, grasping Hermione's other.

'Still, if there's someone who will understand, who will stand by your side, it's Hermione. I'll stand by that,' the voice urged. 'She will probably get angry – but in the end, she's a sensible girl.'

'Woman,' he replied rapidly and his eyes fell on her again.

In that exact moment, her eyes began to flutter open and she turned her head.

"Hey," she whispered groggily.

"Hello," he replied and – he didn't trust himself in that moment – smiled.

"I think Pomfrey dosed me with a sleeping draught," she groaned and tried to roll on her side. "I don't think there was pain reliever in it."

"Weasley's been expelled," he rubbed his thumb over her palm. "He was sent to his parents," he added – relaying what he had heard from his sixth years.

"Okay," she yawned. "About time to," she seemed to wake up and smiled back at him. "What time is it, by the way?"

He slowly pulled his hand out of hers – and the pocket watch out of his coat. "Half one."

"Already?" she frowned. "Do you think I can leave? I don't like the smell of the hospital wing. It's even worse than muggle hospitals and I hate the smell there too."

"I couldn't say and I don't want Pomfrey to see me," he whispered and very slowly, touched her cheek, his fingertips stroking softly over her skin, up to her cheekbone, her eyebrow, her forehead.

"No, I don't think I want her here now either," she whispered huskily and groaning, she turned to her side. "Couldn't you sleep?" she asked suddenly.

He knew it was a lie if he said yes now – he was tired – and didn't doubt that he could sleep – closing the gritty eyes – but telling her that he wanted to see her, make sure she was fine was – too much. "No I couldn't sleep."

She smiled and her hand wandered to his face, his cheek, cupping it. "I'm happy you're here."

He closed his eyes for a moment and enjoyed her warm fingers on his cheek. The darkness, her on her side now – he wanted to do nothing more than to lie down next to her, pulling her to him, having her in his arms and her head on his chest. But no – he shouldn't give in to all his wishes.

'Tell her now,' the voice urged again.

xx

She couldn't remember ever having been able to see the emotions so clearly showing on his face, in his eyes. Maybe it was the darkness, maybe the fact that she had to look up at him, maybe her sleep-befuddled brain but he seemed uneasy – confused – and fighting with something deep within.

"Severus?" she asked a little anxiously, "are you alright?"

He nodded. "Fine. Is the pain bearable?"

She nodded as well. "No walk in the park but – yes, bearable." It was still painful – very much so and she knew it would be better if he would just lie down next to her, take her in his arms, kiss the pain away – but how could she tell him that she wanted it – without being too forward?

"Did he say anything?" she asked cautiously.

"Not that I am aware of," he replied evenly apparently, something had won the fight inside – though what – and what it was about, she didn't know, "but I didn't talk to the headmistress after she had expelled him."

"Okay," she frowned, then sighed.

"Are you sleepy?" he asked softly.

"Not at all," she replied and pulled his hand a little closer – lifted it to her face and kissed a finger.

"You should nevertheless try and sleep for a bit longer."

She shook her head – and felt almost like a petulant little child. "You can't sleep either." And – she didn't want to stay in the hospital wing.

She pulled both her hands away from him and, with a little difficulty, sat up.

"Hermione," he hissed, "lie back down."

"I leave," she looked down at herself and summoned her wand wandlessly, and then transfigured the hospital gown in decent clothes. "Accio robes," spoke softly.

"You can't leave," Severus stood up and in front of her, glaring down. "Lie back down."

"I will. In my room. Not here," she hissed back and a second later, her robes sailed into her hands. "You can either help me or not but I'm not staying here."

"Stop acting like a child," he whispered sharply. "And lie back down." He raised his wand and transfigured her clothes back into the hospital gown.

"Severus," she glared at him – but suddenly, another wave of pain hit her in the back and she grimaced.

"See?" he took the robes from her hands and vanished them. "Will you now lie back down?"

Petulantly, she sat back down – but found the position a whole less comfortable and fell back on her back.

"I'll kill him for this," she hissed.

"Yes," he replied evenly.

xx

He still battled with himself – he knew eventually, he would have to tell her – about his leaving, about the Potions magazine. He knew he would have to – sooner rather than later. The Potions magazine could wait until it had been published – then he had something in his hands to tell her – but his leaving? As soon as Minerva would find the letter, this would go around the school, everyone would know eventually – and he knew it wasn't fair not to tell her himself.

'Courage, Snape. What are you, a chicken?' the voice hissed.

"I resigned," he said suddenly.

"What?"

"Mercury brought my letter of resignation to the headmistress this afternoon. I resigned."

"I don't – what?"

He sighed. "You're supposedly the brightest witch of your age. I quit this job."

She looked utterly confused. Utterly. "Why? When? When are you leaving?"

He rubbed his forehead, then looked at his fingers. "Friday."

"Friday? This Friday?"

"Yes."

"You're joking. This is a bad joke, right?" her eyes were wide open and she pushed herself up on her elbows.

"Do I look like someone who's joking to you?"

"Madam Pomfrey dosed me with something. This is not happened. It's a hallucination. You're asleep in your bed, I'm asleep, not happening. You never came up here, right? You're just what I wish to see and now my brain's letting me know that this is not happening by you telling me something absolutely outrageous," she settled back down. "Okay, I got it."

"No dream, Hermione," he glowered. "I am leaving Hogwarts on Friday."

She reached out and touched his face, his cheek, his lips, his nose, his eyes. "You're really here. And you're leaving Hogwarts on Friday. Well done, Professor Snape," she clenched her jaw, and with a look of conviction pushed herself up in a sitting position and swung her legs to the side of the bed.

"Lie back down," he said sternly.

"I don't think so," she said through clenched teeth. "You can't tell me to lie down now."

"Hermione," he knew he sounded like a teacher again – like an angry, annoyed teacher.

"Don't follow me," she said and in obvious pain, limped out of the infirmary – in only her hospital gown.

_**xx**_


	55. Chapter 55

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

xx

Minerva sighed deeply and snuggled closer to her husband. Somehow, his bed at the Hog's Head had become their bed – and she liked it.

"Talk, Erva, otherwise you'll never be able to sleep," Aberforth rasped groggily, his arm moving to her lower back and pulling her tighter.

"He said that Hermione was his only friend. And I – I knew he was alone – I knew he was isolating himself and I talked to him, yes, but I think I should have brought my foot down on the other teachers. Do you know that Aurora – she's never talked to him."

"Who's she?"

"Astronomy teacher," she replied.

"That makes sense then," he quipped.

"What?"

"Astronomy? Tower?"

"Oh," she sighed, understanding his meaning about not really wanting to go up to the Tower any more after – oh well. "But Septima? And the fact that Pince doesn't want to see him in the library again? And worst of all – Filius. Flitwick. They never really talked afterwards and why? Because he behaved like a good little soldier, following the commands of his general. Like a brave little pawn. You know what he did?" she asked, tears pooling in her eyes again. "He deceived the entire school. I don't want to imagine what it was like being so alone in this. I don't want to imagine what it looks like inside of him – what it did before. What this has done to his soul, to his capacity to trust, to love. And he finds friendship with Hermione – and I just think I can go on as if nothing had ever happened."

"I think that was what he wanted," Ab rubbed her back soothingly. "I think this is exactly what he wanted – but it cannot be the same way."

"But we all know that he worked on orders, we all know it. I have never, not before and not since, seen him hurt someone else. Not on purpose. I have seen him being hurt – physically, severely wounded, barely alive after coming back from he-who-must-bloody-not-be-bloody-named. I've seen him at times, fighting tears of pain. And of course I can't say what he did at those revels, or whatever it was that they did but while he really belittled people, was snarky, was mean, was the evil git, he never, never hurt someone," she sobbed once and buried her face into his bare chest, her fingers clutching at his arm.

"Shh, it's alright, Erva. Even if he leaves the school, he won't disappear from the face of the earth."

"It's my fault he's going."

"Stop that," he patted her bottom, "It's not your fault. If Severus decides to go, he will have his reasons. No one can stop him then."

"But..."

"If he sets his mind on becoming a Transvestite, you can tell him all you want – he'll be a Transvestite."

She groaned and kicked him with her foot on his shin. "Stop being so..."

"Alright, but you get the gist, don't you? He will do what he thinks is right and if you're being honest, you know that. And have you thought about the fact that maybe he's really in love with Hermione and she reciprocates and they do not want to be teacher and student any more?"

"What?" she shot up in bed, sitting ramrod straight. "Not even he would be so stupid. It's not against the by-laws."

"But you with your constant asking, do you think you made it simpler for her? Have you ever known him to be have a girlfriend?"

"No, he was in love with Li..."

"Erva, think. You can have a girlfriend even if you're in love with someone else."

"Have you ever...," she glared down at him and second later, she heard a chuckle and was pulled into his arms.

"No, my darling wife, I have never. But I was an old man already and you were not married. And not dead. But still alive, still well, up there. And I have no doubt that I would have loved you if you had died in any of the damn fights you fought for my brother – but then, maybe, I would have sought solace with another woman. As it is, I never did but he was young. And before you ask, yes, I have seen him with a woman, I rented both of them a room."

"Who?"

"I don't ask for identity, you know that," he growled.

"Harry does."

"Harry's decent. I'm not."

"I can see you're not," she smirked suddenly and lifted the covers, peeking at his naked form.

"Be serious," he scolded, "just wait until you see his resignation. If he resigns at the end of the school year, you'll have a little time to convince him to stay. If it's before that, tell him that you cannot possibly find a substitute and make him stay until the end of the year and by that time, make your teachers see reason. Spend time with him."

"If he wants that," she said gloomily.

"You only rarely care if someone wants to do something, you try anyway," he whispered soothingly and pulled her to him – kissing her gently.

xx

It hurt to walk – and it hurt even more since she tried to get away as fast as possible.

Going to such extremes now? This added a complete new dimension to the term running away. First, talking her into staying at Hogwarts, then leaving himself.

She knew she was being irrational – she knew that she wasn't probably the reason that he wanted to leave, but this seemed so sudden – and all that had, as far as she could tell, changed, was his relationship with her, his – dalliance. Or whatever it was called.

Clearly, however, no matter what the circumstances, he didn't want to continue it. Didn't want to stay where he was – telling her to stay, telling her that she would learn much more under Minerva's, Filius's and his own tutelage than at an WU.

"Bastard," she muttered to herself and undid the wards on her room. She needed to lie down now. And fast. Her back hurt a lot and the pain came all the way down to her knees. She should not have walked so fast.

Lifting her wand from where she lay on the floor – she pointed it at the door and warded it tightly.

xx

Severus sat, his head in his hands, on the bed she had been lying on not two minutes before. The voice in his head screamed for him to run after her – that she had misunderstood, that she thought he was leaving her.

And maybe it had sounded that way. But didn't she understand? Didn't she see that...

No of course not.

'Because you've never talked to her, twit,' the voice snarked – sounding like him. 'Because as far as she knows, all the teachers treat you as their best friend.'

"Shut up," he said loudly.

'No, you go after her because she ran away. She RAN away – and with a hurt back, that's not the best course of things.'

He groaned. What he knew was that he had to leave the hospital wing before anyone realised that she was gone – and he was there. Tiredly, he picked himself up from her bed and left the hospital wing – unsure where he would go next.

Down the stairs – to his rooms – up the stairs to hers.

No, he was angry – quite – at her for not listening to him.

'Yeah, and what would you have told her?'

That did it, that gave him the rest and with conviction, he walked straight towards the staircase.

xx

She groaned. Shouldn't have run. Shouldn't have left the infirmary. Shouldn't have lain down on the floor. She got up carefully and wished for some kind of pain potion and began pacing – slowly. Slow walking seemed okay. Painful but better than lying around – doing nothing.

She would personally go to the Weasleys – as soon as she could move decently again – and shove Ron's wand down his throat. Or maybe up his arse. Or hex him until he – well, whatever. She would think of something.

And Severus? If he didn't want to continue seeing her – why not just tell her honestly?

Hermione groaned loudly and lay back on the floor. It hurt.

xx

Severus fell into his chair and groaned. The voice did not stop yelling at him and he let it. What was the point of trying to argue with it anyway?

It was – after all – just a figment of his imagination – just himself yelling at himself. The one part of his brain and the other part.

However, apart from the annoying voice, there was a strange niggling feeling in his stomach – telling him to at least see if she was alright and had not collapsed somewhere on the way. He tried to keep it down – tried to ignore it, but it was all for nought.

"Oh for heaven's sake," he grunted and, in a billow of robes, swept out of his rooms and the voice cheered him on as he rushed up the stairs.

He wasn't quite panting when he stood in front of her room and tried to undo all the layers of warding she had so obviously thrown on it. Yes, so many wards should have ticked him off that she was fine, that she was alright, but this odd inner monster – that he hadn't known he even possessed (or the other way round) – needed to make sure that she was fine, that she was still breathing, that she hadn't collapsed in pain.

He undid the last ward and opened the door.

xx

She had her eyes tightly closed and hummed softly to herself – not a special melody, just – humming – on the floor. Slowly walking hadn't worked but now, flat on the floor hurt as well. She knew that nothing further had happened – it was just that she had put too much strain on it too quickly.

"Good God, woman, do I always find you on the floor?" she heard his voice – his voice – and cracked her eyes open.

Her back hurt and she was irritable. Extremely. And angry with him. Extremely. "Didn't I tell you not to follow me?"

He glared at her and she closed her eyes again, almost instantly. "Just go away," she said but in the same moment, she found the cool glass of a vial pressed to her lips.

"Pain potion," he said – and she could not pinpoint if his voice was cold – or comforting. She really couldn't. Instead, she stared into his dark, dark eyes and there was her answer. Comforting.

But she didn't want to see that. No. Instead, she closed her lips tightly and pushed the vial away.

"I'm not in pain," she replied – her own tone cold.

"That's why you're on the floor," he replied and with a flick of his wand, had levitated her to her bed. "Better?"

She hid – as best as he could – the grimace of pain. Too slow for him. Too slow.

"Clearly," he sneered and had the vial in his outstretched hand. "Take it or leave it."

"You'd leave it, wouldn't you?" she replied, vitriol in her voice. "Because you leave, obviously, when it's getting difficult. You know what that makes you, _sir_?" she sneered the title – just as he had sneered before.

"Getting difficult? Grow up, little girl," he drawled coldly. "I haven't run from danger since before I was younger than you are."

"Oh no, of course not. You haven't run from danger. You joined in," she replied – knowing full well how her words would hurt him – if there was something to hurt.

He raised his eyebrows. "Clearly, I've made a mistake, Miss Granger," he took the vial back and stored it into a pocket of his robes.

She paled – fear falling over her. "Severus – I didn't mean that."

Once more, he raised his eyebrows and turned around. Just before he could grab the handle of the door, he looked over his shoulder. "Maybe you should forgive Weasley. You'll make a splendid couple."

"Severus!" she got up from the bed he had levitated her on – but the pain in her back stopped her from running after him.

"Shit, shit shit," she yelled and threw a pillow, then a book (_Always Charming – Charms through the ages_) at her door. "For fuck's sake," she muttered and from her secret hiding place behind her books on the shelf, she pulled a bottle of Ogden's. And drank – straight out of the bottle.

xx

"Mercury," he called in a soft voice that did not betray how he felt – though – he wasn't sure how he felt. Betrayed? Angry? Hurt? No – not hurt. He had been sure something like this was coming. The owl swooped in through his slightly opened door and he handed him a scroll of parchment.

"Take this to the headmistress. Wherever she is. I don't care. Wake her if you must. Then come and find me," he said urgently and as soon as his owl was out of the room again, he warded the door strongly, and waved his wand around the room.

Soon – barely a minute later, everything was doll-sized – quite easy to carry and he put it into the pockets of his robes, before he looked around once. Satisfied.

No, true – he had never been impulsive, had never been one for quick decisions – but now, he was. A new life, a new name, a new company, his old home. Not this one – the other one. He needed to change, he knew – but not change as in becoming nice – in becoming more personable. No, change as in deciding what was best for himself, deciding what he wanted.

And this – this was what he wanted.

Severus Snape walked briskly out of the castle that had been his home – with minor interruptions – since 1971. 1971. A long time ago. Time to move on.

As quickly as he could, he rushed to the castles gates – and apparated as soon as he could. To a new life.

_**xx**_


	56. Chapter 56

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**Thanks to tatjana88**_

_**xx**_

_The Daily Prophet, March 10th 1999_

**Deputy Headmaster Flitckwick announces that Dumbledore's murderer left Hogwarts **

According to Deputy Headmaster Filius Flitwick, Master of Charms at Hogwarts, announced last night that the murderer of Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, has resigned from his post as Potions Master and has left late Tuesday night. His reasons are unknown but the Daily Prophet can imagine that probably Snape has finally found his conscience. His current location is undisclosed and Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was not available for comments.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, March 21st, 1999_

**Hermione Granger cries on our Saviour's shoulder**

Hermione Granger, best friend of the boy-who-lived twice, has been sighted in the pub in which our Harry is still employed. She was seen crying and our Harry had his arms around her. Unfortunately, a photographer of our paper was unable to take a picture, since his camera had vanished right in front of his eyes.

Have they turned to each other? It seems very likely, both of them being left by a Weasley and Hermione and Harry would make a very nice couple.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, March 31st, 1999_

**Hermione's first academic paper a sensation**

Hermione Granger's first paper, published in a potion's magazine has been lauded by every potioneer in the country. The topic, a relief potion for the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse has been long needed and wanted and according to one of the topmost potioneers of our country, it is the beginning of a wonderful and successful career in Potions for the young Hogwarts student.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, April 1st, 1999_

**Hermione cries again on Harry's shoulder**

The inn in Hogsmeade, Harry Potter's new place of work, has once more been the place for Hermione to cry her eyes out. The reason as to why is still undiscovered but she sat in Harry's arms for close to half an hour. It seems those two have found love finally with each other.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, April 2nd 1999_

**Still no clue about the whereabouts of Severus Snape**

Dumbledore's murderer, Severus Snape, has still not appeared in public again. There have been no sightings, neither in Hogsmeade, nor anywhere in Diagon Alley or any of the apothecaries in the UK. We do wonder about his whereabouts and whether he is still alive at all.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, April 24th, 1999_

**Ill-fated potioneer taking his own life?**

Severus Snape, missing since March 9th, is rumoured to have committed suicide. Robes that looked remarkably like those he was famous for wearing at Hogwarts, have been found in Ipswich earlier yesterday by a pair of Muggles. They had been obliviated according to the law and do not remember any of the incident. How Severus Snape, M.A.P. has come to Ipswich and where his body might be, nobody knows but investigations by our papers are on the way.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, May 13th, 1999_

**Hermione Granger staying at Hogwarts after taking her NEWTs**

Filius Flitwick, Deputy Headmaster confirmed reports stating that Hermione Granger will be staying on at Hogwarts even after taking her NEWTs a year late due to her help in the fight against Voldemort. She will be apprenticing under Headmistress McGonagall, the Charms Master Filius Flitwick, the Astronomy Mistress Aurora Sinistra and Hogwarts's new Potions Mistress Herberta Buettel even though it is unheard of to apprentice under so many masters and it is undecided whether she will have a title after finishing.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, May 31__st__, 1999_

**Minerva McGonagall a married woman!**

Minerva McGonagall, headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has apparently been married to Aberforth Dumbledore, brother of the wonderful, late Albus, for the last at least 5 months. We wonder, however, why nothing has leaked out and why our paper has not been able to find out and therefore, if the marriage is legal or does exist.

Harry Potter still manages Aberforth Dumbledore's inn and has been reported to spend a lot of time with Hermione Granger there.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, June 3rd 1999_

**Granger, Weasley, Lovegood graduate**

Along with the rest of their year, the close friends of Harry Potter, vanquisher of he-who-probably-can-be-named-again-sometime-in-the-future, Hermione Granger, Ginevra Weasley and Luna Lovegood have taken their NEWTs and are now officially not students any more.

Miss Weasley has signed a contract with the Holyhead Harpies and will play professional quidditch.

Luna Lovegood has plans to help out her father and eventually succeed him as editor of one of those not to be taken seriously papers.

As for Miss Granger, she will indeed stay on at Hogwarts, as reported on May 13th.

The staff of the Daily Prophet wishes all of those who have just left Hogwarts good luck.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, July 6th, 1999_

**Ronald Weasley signing on with Basel Bomber**

Ronald Weasley, crucial in the fight against a certain dark wizard, has signed on with the professional Swiss quidditch team, the Basel Bomber. Switzerland and Austria form one league and Weasley will be playing against such teams as the Vienna Wunder and the Grazer Giganten. His pregnant wife Gabrielle will be accompanying him. She is due to be giving birth any day now.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, July 16th, 1999_

**Severus Snape still missing**

Brig H. (name changed by the editors) has been found to be impersonating Severus Snape, M.A.P.. He will be facing criminal charges as now even the Aurors began to search for Severus Snape, the spy for the light side. There is still, however, no sign of him.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, July 17th, 1999_

**Ronald Weasley a father for the first time**

Ronald Weasley's wife Gabrielle has given birth to a healthy son. The boy, named Gavin, was born in Basel on July 16th. Ronald Weasley has been unable to attend to his wife at this time of need as he had been in Chur, playing against the Graubünden Giftzwerge.

However, it has been reported that Ronald Weasley's mother Molly has been present to support her daughter in law.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, July 19th, 1999_

**Harry Potter engaged**

Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived-twice, vanquisher of he-who-must-not-be-named is apparently engaged to a woman called Dorothy Rothaus. Other than the fact that this woman is the niece of Hogsmeade landlady Rosmerta Rothaus, nothing is known about her.

Has Harry now broken Hermione's heart and is the mysterious young woman simply a gold-digger? The Daily Prophet intends to find out.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, August 21st 1999_

**Former home of Severus Snape revealed**

A reporter of our paper has been able to locate the former home of Severus Snape, the spy-who-defied-he-who-must-not-be-named-until-the-very-end but unfortunately, it is quite empty and no spells and wards set on it and the house itself was empty as one of our staff could see for himself. There is no furniture left and a Muggle neighbour explained that she has not seen anyone in close to two years.

The mystery of his disappearance continues.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, September 1st, 1999_

**First official statement of Headmistress McGonagall concerning the matter of Severus Snape!**

On the occasion of the beginning of the new school year, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall has given her first statement concerning Severus Snape, the-spy-who-defied-the-Dark. She stated that Severus Snape has been the most important outlet the Light had during the last war and that without him, it could have never been won. Furthermore, it has been her explicit wish that "people get off his back and care about their own lives."

She then directed a message at her former colleague, and "friend".

"Severus, if you read this […] please contact me. I miss you."

xx

_The Daily Prophet, October 26th, 1999_

**Hermione Granger sighted in Hogwarts with unknown male!**

Has Hermione Granger finally found love after Harry has left her for his mysterious fiancée and Ronald Weasley has married Gabrielle? Her companion has been reported to be brown-haired, tall and handsome.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, November 4th, 1999_

**Severus Snape sighted?**

According to sources, Severus Snape has been seen in Cardiff last night. This could not be confirmed by our paper.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, November 26th, 1999_

**Hermione's unknown male companion revealed!**

The young man who used to accompany Hermione Granger through Hogsmeade quite often in the past month has been revealed as Ronaldo Bevan, who was her test object for a new potion that is developed at Hogwarts. That male is apparently not interested in Hermione since he is already bound to Richard Bevan-Prewett.

Poor Hermione has not found love yet again.

xx

_The Daily Prophet, December 13th, 1999_

**Hermione Granger publishes second paper and develops potion that will revolutionise the Wizarding World**

Hermione Granger has developed a sensational new potion which will be used as a vaccination against dragonpox. It has to be taken once at the age of 7 or 8 and will then last the entire lifetime. On this, Miss Granger has written a paper which is lauded and praised in the Potioning World and the developing of this potion which will save a lot of children and adults in our world from experiencing weeks of discomfort by the disease.

To express our gratitude, this and all the other editions of the Daily Prophet this week will run a special series on Miss Hermione Granger.

_**xx**_


	57. Chapter 57

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx **_

Hermione sat quietly, a glass of Chardonnay in front of her, and watched, with a little smile, the party going on around her. Harry Potter getting married. Who married a week before Christmas?

She had talked a lot with the two of them over the last few months and knew that they were quite compatible. Dotty was a sweet girl who could hold her ground, who soothed Harry's temper, who grounded him even more than he already was. She accepted him, without prejudice. For her, it seemed, he was still Just Harry. Not Harry Potter, the famous person.

And Harry enjoyed it immensely. He loved his life, he had said and she knew he was telling the truth, in Hogsmeade, especially when the reporters had stopped occupying the Hog's Head some time during the autumn. It was the quiet life he enjoyed – the only excitement coming from Dotty, who could still be kind of unsure about the Wizarding World and Britain in general.

In short, it became quiet around Harry – and Hermione appreciated even that a lot. Since she had taken her NEWTs, she was free to spend her spare hours outside of Hogwarts – and the Hog's Head was where she was most of the time. With Harry and Dotty. And sometimes Abe and Minerva.

She had needed it – after Severus had left so abruptly, without warning, and without telling anyone where he had gone. She had tried to contact him – had sent Hermes – and while the scrolls she had written were always gone – she had never received a reply and tracking spells on the short notes (she had not dared to write long letters) and on Hermes had not worked. Despite everything she had heard from others (who still read the Daily Prophet), she knew that he was alive. Whether he was well – and where he was, she didn't know.

And she still missed him. She had cried over him, over her own stupidity, and her way of lashing out on him when she had been in physical pain. But the crying had stopped – and had turned into energy – and work. And that resulted in the new potion that everyone seemed to think sensational. For her, it had been months of hard work, nights spend in the lab (not his – she could not get in), days hunched over books and tests with sick people, her having dragonpox herself. And it had resulted in her beginning to despise the current Potions Mistress at Hogwarts, Madam Buettel. Since that bloody woman could not teach her anything. And vice versa. Because her article had just been published the day before.

But...

She missed him – missed that he always knew which book to look into to solve a problem, missed the interaction with him. But she knew if he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be found. It was as simple as that.

No, she hadn't had another affair, another relationship. Nothing. It was basically just her, her books, her wand and her cauldrons. And the quills and parchment she needed to jot down her ideas. And the friendship with Harry, Dotty, Minerva and Abe. And a little bit of Luna – whenever she would come to Hogsmeade during one of her weird hunts for weird animals.

Still, those few months when she had been the friend of Severus Snape – they had shaped her – to a certain extent. But – this was over. And her fault. So a certain extent.

But no matter what – she never went to the courtyard any more.

xx

Severus Snape grumblingly put his furniture in his living room at Spinner's End again – and turned the _walls_ into the bookshelves they had been before again. Once more, one of those idiot reporters had broken into his house and he had spent those ten minutes (really – they were less insistent these days) in the cellar, in his lab. Pity for the reporters that he was the better, the more experienced wizard. Pity that he knew how to make it seem like the house was abandoned. Pity that nobody knew that there was a hidden door to the cellar – and that he had put a lab there. Pity that nobody knew that he and Mercury had cooked up the most brilliant idea that the potions he produced in his cellar were not actually shipped from the dingy little Northern English town – but that he had acquired a large owl (that actually got along quite well with Mercury – but then again his old, tiny owl seemed to have a thing for large birds) and that the potions were brought to Ireland first, then the owl flew from there. Just as his profits landed in Ireland. And since he only produced every-day potions, nobody suspected it was him. He wasn't becoming rich – far from it – but he could live on it, as well as feed his birds and that was enough.

He didn't miss Hogwarts. He didn't miss his students, or most of his colleagues. He missed Minerva, with her love-struck puppy eyes when she talked to or about Abe – and he missed Hermione more than he ever thought possible. In the first few weeks it had hurt – actually, physically hurt and when he had read her article it had only gotten worse. Still – she had hurt him. Had used knowledge she had against him – when he had least expected it. When he had wanted to explain that he did not leave because of her.

Too late for that. If Severus Snape knew one thing – it was the end of a friendship. And this had been it. Irrevocably.

If only he wouldn't miss her so much. And if only he had not decided to subscribe to all the reputable potions magazines under a fake name under a fake Irish address.

He sat down in the chair he always sat on and took a small wooden box from one of the bookshelves and opened it.

She had tried to contact him – had tried to apologise, had put tracking spells on her owl – and on the parchments. And she as well had forgotten that he was quite capable with magic – and sense a tracking spell even before he could detect it with his wand and he had kept all the letters, well, not letters – only notes actually. He pulled one from the stack and looked at it – _S, thank you so much, H_ – that had been after the article had been published.

He sighed and put all the letters away. It did him no good. And another Potions Quarterly had come out the day before. It would pull his thoughts away from Hermione.

xx

"Good night, you two. Don't overdo it," she grinned and hugged first Dotty, then Harry, the smiling, beaming, newly wed couple, oozing happiness. She had stayed – until the very end. Had let Abe twirl her around the dancefloor. Had seen Molly's picture of her newest grandchild Gavin (a Weasley – no doubt about that), had talked to Minerva and Arthur, had talked to her parents (because they had taken a liking to Harry and Dotty after they had returned and made up with Hermione and had been invited to the wedding), and had drunk a glass or two or three of wine and was about ready to leave for home – Hogwarts. The room she had begun to call hers months before.

"Will you be fine?" Harry asked and put his hand on her arm.

"Fine," she grinned. "Bit tipsy but I should be perfect flooing up there. It's not that difficult after all."

"Not as tipsy as Minerva was," Dotty chuckled. "And Harry can floo you. I don't mind."

"Are you insane?" Hermione laughed. "It's a ten-second floo. And if I get the wrong fireplace, I'll end up only in the lab."

She hugged both again, and, telling them good bye, left the Hog's Head. Home. A bit of reading, maybe admiring her article again.

She was proud of it – not so much of the potion itself, this had been relatively simple – otherwise she couldn't have done it without a competent potioneer by her side, and she had drawn from her muggle upbringing and vaccinations there – but the article – the editorial article – that one was great.

She was proud of herself – having written it completely alone – just because she had jumped into work after he had gone. Disappeared, more like.

She would start looking for him – after Christmas. Before that, time was just too short. She had wanted to go before – but whenever she had tried, she found herself unable to – rooted to the spot. Why? She wasn't sure. Maybe because he had never returned any of her notes, had never written back. Not even a short reply. Nothing. And, she didn't know where to start. Spinner's End would be a good place to begin – but she wasn't even sure where that was exactly and she didn't dare to ask Harry.

Harry – Harry had been a little mad when she had told him about her and Severus and all that had transpired between them. But only because she hadn't told him right from the start – and because she had lied to him. Then he had been mad at Severus – when she had said that he had disappeared and then mad at her – because she had said the things she had said.

After that, he had consoled her, comforted her and she had – unbidden – thought about the differences between Harry comforting her and Severus comforting her.

And that had not been good.

No, thinking about Severus was not good at all.

She changed and slipped underneath her covers, glad that she had a hot water bottle in there with her.

xx

Severus gasped – and read once more.

_The effect of Manderwort on Hellebore and how it can be prevent dragonpox_

by Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger. Manderwort and Hellebore and dragonpox. That was – genius. Manderwort was an old herb, rarely known, rarely used. Grew only in the Forbidden Forest. Could only be harvested during new moon.

Manderwort.

Hermione.

He always knew it had been in her. But to develop a potion to prevent dragonpox – that was more than he had ever expected. He had never tried, oddly enough, something had always been more important. But that she had done it, in so little time – not even a year – that was something to admire.

He dug deeply into the pocket of his cheap corduroy trousers (black, what else?) and warmed his hands in there – Spinner's End was constantly cold – for lack of a fire and the fact that he was too tired to constantly keep up a warming charm. He found his new uniform, corduroy trousers and a jumper much more comfortable, much more freeing than the robes and stiff frock coat. And nobody ever saw him here anyway, apart from Mercury and the new owl that he had not named and they did not care what he looked like.

He found his routine – acceptable. Got up reasonably early every morning, around 6.30, 7, depending. He brewed for a while, sent his things to Ireland, then the owl would take it wherever, on Tuesday, he took the day off – went into Leeds, by bus, mostly, or train – and always wearing a glamour or, if he was lucky, polyjuice and got his provisions there. A bit of food, once in a while a new book, and when the mood took him, he even went into the wizarding area, tiny though it was, in Leeds. But only when he was lucky enough to get a hair from someone – a neighbour, a homeless person, anyone.

It wasn't a deliberate decision not to appear in the Wizarding World – it had just happened after he had realised that nobody would buy potions from him. And then he thought that probably nobody would sell him ingredients – and so he had started the idea with creating a fake address and a fake identity.

But to disappear completely?

After reading that article, he thought that maybe it had been a less than ideal idea. Not that anyone cared about it – except maybe Hermione.

He sighed – and read carefully through the article for the third time. No, he couldn't have created a better potion himself.

Mercury swooped down on his shoulder and nipped on his ear.

He hummed, and sighed. "You're right."

He got up, his hands out of his pockets, rubbing them to keep warm – and with the owl on his shoulder, dragged himself down to his lab. He was tired – and being all alone with two owls and sometimes, a rat in his kitchen (once he had found a mouse there, a tiny field mouse, starved, dead in front of his cupboards), was not quite as enjoyable as he had thought. Even the interactions with his students, the blown-up cauldrons, well, it was something. And while he enjoyed the quietness of his lab, of the old, run-down house, the hated house, he knew he could not go on like this for much longer.

He ripped a sheet of paper from a pad (parchment was difficult to come by) and dipped his old quill deep into the inkwell and wrote. Just a little. Couldn't hurt. And he would have to sent it before he could change his mind.

xx

Hermione was awoken, having just fallen asleep (the Chardonnay helped), by a tapping on her window. The usual owl tapping but who wrote her that late? And which owl could not wait until the morning?

Her eyes were still half-closed and she padded to the window.

"Mercury?" her eyes snapped open and she let the snow-covered bird in. "What are you...? Oh my God, you have something? From him?"

The bird hooted and slowly lifted his leg. "He really...? Is he okay? Does he hate me?"

It hooted again and jumped on her shoulder as she unfolded the muggle paper.

_H,_

_congratulations on the paper and the discovery of the dragonpox vaccination potion. _

_S_

"That's all? Can you take something back?" she asked and, biting her lip, looked questioningly at the tiny bird.

_**xx**_


	58. Chapter 58

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Hogwarts, 18th December 1999

Dear S,

are you well? We're worried about you and I've owled you before. Did you get my messages? By we, of course I mean Minerva, Aberforth, Harry and his new wife, Dorothy. I think you've met her, haven't you? Yes, they got married earlier today (well, since it's after 12, technically, it was yesterday and today is the 19th, but that doesn't matter now, does it?). I do so hope you're well and fine and healthy and I'm so sorry for all the things I said. I didn't mean them. Honestly, Severus, I'm so sorry. I just didn't think. I didn't want to hurt you.

Yours,

H

xx

23rd December

H,

as you can see, I am well.

S

xx

Walton-on-the-Hill, 23rd December 1999

Dear S,

as you can see, I'm spending my holidays, once more, with my parents back at home. I only arrived here this morning and I'm ever so glad that you replied to my note. Christmas in Walton-on-the-Hill is usually always nice and since I'm getting along fine with my parents again, I'm very much looking forward to it. It is due to you, really, Severus. You brought them back, you went back with me when I explained. I couldn't have done it without you and if you believe otherwise, you're a fool. And I know you will sit there, a cup of tea in your hand, in your chair, wherever you are, and you will sneer at the sentimentality of this letter. But it's Christmas soon and I don't know where you are and I will never forget the look on your face last year when I gave you the book. It made my Christmas.

Happy Christmas!

Yours,

H

xx

29th December

H,

I took the book with me. It's very nice.

S

xx

Walton-on-the-Hill 29th December 1999

Dear S,

I cannot believe that this year is almost over. So many things happened and as you know, I take this time to reminisce. It was definitely better than last year, wasn't it? Every year will be better, even though I do have to admit that 1999 was not without pain. No, definitely not. It was a roller-coaster ride of emotions and I have to say this, but I was incredibly happy with you. Not only the time that we were somewhat closer but even before that, when we were friends and when I knew that I could turn to you whenever I needed someone to talk to. I miss that like crazy these days. I miss you.

But as last year, I know I should stop remembering and concentrate on the here and now. And the here and now is, sadly, Walton-on-the-Hill and my parents. I suppose that every woman in the worlds knows this fact, but mothers are horribly annoying after a while and that she is since yesterday. Honestly, I'm 20, not a little girl any more and when I decide not to tidy up my room, I will not. Not that I have to tidy it up, but I left a bowl in the sink and didn't wash it up immediately and that made her ramble at my about tidiness and the importance to keep everything clean and the way it should be organised. Honestly, she tells me to be organised? Me? Oh well, this is probably just what mothers do, get on the nerves of their daughters. Sometimes, I cannot help but wonder if she would have been the same if I had been a boy. Did I ever tell you that they would have called me Benedick or Iago? Really, I think my name's bad but that would have been worse. Iago? Really, just because they're boring dentists doesn't mean that their child needs to have an extraordinary name that nobody can pronounce. The children at my primary school made so much fun of me because of my name but I suppose maybe you can relate to that.

I should end this letter, it's late and Mercury seems a little impatient. Happy new year! I hope the world doesn't crash and there's no Y2K bug.

Yours,

H

xx

January 5th 2000

H,

Yes, I too experienced taunting because of my first name. And the world is still spinning around the sun.

S

xx

Hogwarts, January 6th 2000

Dear S,

I'm so sorry I couldn't reply immediately yesterday night but I wasn't able to since I was just on the way back to Hogwarts and needed to settle in, needed to bring Hermes to Hagrid since my poor little owl seems to be somewhat ill. He sneezed and seemed tired and his eyes were a little glassy. I hope Hagrid can make him healthy again.

May I ask if you're working on anything? I take it you somehow found out about my article and now that the potion is finished, tested and approved off, I need something new to work on and Minerva (I'm on a first name basis with her now since I took my NEWTs) suggested, I take on the books now and decipher some of the hidden references but there's nobody left here to really teach me.

Did I tell you about Herberta Buettel? Do you know her? She's supposed to be a potions mistress. But I don't believe that. Madam Pomfrey complained at dinner just before Christmas that you never sent so many students up to the hospital wing and that she had to find a new supplier for potions since she cannot possibly manage to teach classes and brew supplies – at least that's what Poppy said that she had said and also that you always did. She got misty eyes and said that she was sorry that you were dead. I should explain: the Daily Prophet, since it's looking for you and couldn't find you, still thinks you're dead or possibly in Tasmania. I have no idea how they ever had the idea about Tasmania, and maybe you are there, but still. I didn't tell anyone that I'm conversing with you and that you're alive, not even Minerva and she sniffed into her handkerchief when Poppy talked about you and said that all of them treated you wrong. Was that the reason you left, Severus? Wasn't it me? Was it them? I know that Sinistra, the witch with a b, said that you are possibly quite happily rotting in hell and that that was nice. She has not returned and Minerva's teaching Astronomy at the moment. Was it that?

I'm not prying, or at least am not trying to, I really don't but you know me, and I am, by nature, curious and want to know things and want to get to the bottom of them. Can you understand that? Of course you don't have to reply, you never had to, you know?

As I was saying, Poppy told us last night then that the apothecary in Hogsmeade is too expensive to order from and that she has found out about a relatively new owl-order-potions-supplier called Spinnende. Do you know him or her or them? I heard they were situated in Tipperary and that it beats the price of every other supplier, and, according to Poppy who has it from Madam Puddifoot who swears by Spinnende now. I just thought you'd know them – if they can be trusted and are good enough for accident-prone Wizarding children and adolescents.

Oh dear, I am writing quite the epic. I am sorry.

Yours,

H

xx

January 6th

This should help your owl.

xx

Hogwarts, January 9th 2000

Dearest Severus,

Happy Birthday! I found this and had to think of you and I hope you like it!

Love,

Hermione

xx

January 10th

H,

the cauldron is nice, thank you. As for your questions, I do not know Spinnende, Herberta Buettel was a Hufflepuff three years older than me and she is quite useless.

S

xx

Hogwarts, January 10th 2000

Dearest S,

Thank you, thank you, thank you! Your potion helped Hermes wonderfully and he's well and fine and currently seems to talk with Mercury. It's so cute seeing father and son together like this. They get along nicely and play with each other. Thank you so much! I was quite worried about him. It's amazing how attached you grow to animals, I think. I've had Crookshanks for so long and even though nobody but me liked him, I still miss him a lot.

I've begun researching a part of the project that Minerva is trying at the moment. A new take on inanimate to inanimate Transfiguration. I do not know if it's really necessary but you never know, do you? And she asked me to do it and this is what I do at the moment. They teach me what they know and I help out where I can. Well, to be totally honest, I've tried getting into your lab – shortly after you left and then again after I returned from Christmas as Buettel decided to occupy the little lab that I made for myself because she has 'something important to do'. I don't know what it is and I don't care. So at the moment, I can't brew and wish I could – but then again, Minerva is very insistent that I do some of her work for that Transfiguration. But really, I prefer Potions and Charms to Transfiguration. I don't know why.

Are you doing alright? I know I haven't really asked about what you do or where you are and I suppose you noticed that there are no tracking spells on the letters or Mercury. I don't want to be nosy, Severus, I just want to know if you're alright and healthy. I'm worried about you, I really am.

Love,

Hermione

xx

January 12th

H,

I am well and healthy and I could have undone any tracking spell at any moment. Transfiguration is silly wand waving and who needs yet another way to turn a thimble into a lute?

S

xx

Hogwarts, January 12th 2009

Dearest Severus,

I am very glad to hear that you're well and healthy. I hope you are somewhere safe. And I'm happy that you're replying so quickly to my letters.

Minerva talked about you yesterday at dinner again. She does very often, and when I brought her her notes the day before yesterday, she told me that she wants to actually dismiss Buettel but there's no other half-way decent instructor to be found. She really wants you to come back but I don't think you will, will you? I wish I had you here, teaching me though – or that I could be taught by you in any way. Buettel refuses to do so – and I'm afraid it's completely my fault. Not that I mind really and I was only telling the truth when I said that she hasn't the faintest about potions and herbs and how they interact. She doesn't know anything and I told her so. Did I tell you that she blew up the lab that I worked at to create the vaccination? She was trying – wait for it – Wolfsbane. And managed to blow the entire beautiful thing up. Can you believe that? I don't have a lab any more, I sit all day behind books writing notes for Minerva. I don't mind that but I really would like to do something useful. Oh well. I shouldn't complain.

I need to run, Severus, Minerva told me that I had to do rounds since we're two teachers short (Buettel does not do rounds. Beneath her. Did you say Hufflepuff? What a strange Hufflepuff).

Love,

Hermione

xx

January 13th

The password to my former lab is stinging nettle

xx

Hogwarts, January 13th 2000

Dearest Severus,

Oh, you don't know what I owe you – you really don't. I wish I could express how much joy I felt when I got your note and of course I had to rush down into your lab and the password worked and I could get in – and you even left some cauldrons and some ingredients! Oh, Severus, this makes me so happy!

I'm sitting here right now and I can't help remembering what's happened here, in this lab. I remember everything so vividly and it makes me miss you more. I wish I could see you, just see you for half an hour, talk, nothing else. I wouldn't even ask about your whereabouts. But I accept that you need some time on your own, or at least I'm trying to!

Thank you, Severus, so much for this wonderful gift of giving me the password. Thank you!

Love,

Hermione

xx

January 25th

I'm in Leeds every Tuesday and more precisely, in the Three Legs every Tuesday for lunch. I could not stop anyone from having lunch there.

xx

Hermione Granger danced a little jig of joy and began rummaging through her wardrobe for some decent muggle clothes to wear in a pub in Leeds on a Tuesday.

_**xx**_


	59. Chapter 59

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

The window was too dirty to check her appearance one last time. She knew she was – nondescript in that moment. Blue jeans, black boots, a jumper, her winter coat, grey. Her hair was in a pony tail, a messenger bag (Christmas gift from her mother) over her shoulder. She looked – normal. Too normal for a place like this, probably. It seemed like a place that people went to who didn't want to be anywhere else, who wanted the anonymity – didn't want to be recognised. It was – so like one of those idiotic mystery novels – the cheap kind – where the suspect always hid in evil pubs like this. And it seemed so – stereotypical.

Still, she entered and knew that the entire things was sticky and dirty and smelled of ale – but she grinned. Hermione knew that they could meet here without anyone suspecting them. Or her, finding him. It was 11.30. A bit early, yes, but some of the patrons were already drinking, and she went up to the counter and ordered a coke. It was one of those things she had missed in the Wizarding World (even though her parents had been quite strict about sugary drinks) until – well, until Dotty had arrived on the scene and had made Harry and Abe stock diet coke at the Head.

No, really, this was quite like the Hog's Head before Harry had turned it upside down and had turned it into a reputable pub. The barman was – toothless and leering and she took the glass with coke and gripped her wand, in the pocket of her coat, tightly. She put some money on the counter and retreated to a booth. She would wait. Pretend to read and wait. And hope that he would show up.

xx

He fought with himself, the voice in his head had been silent for a while now, arguing to and fro whether to actually wear a glamour or not. He was tired, frankly, of playing hide and seek with reporters. He had done nothing wrong. He had been acquitted for the crimes he had, well, committed (and no, he couldn't help but grimace at the bad rhyme that had formed in his head). He had, technically, nothing to hide. And she wouldn't be there anyway.

Simple, he would wear a glamour until he arrived, then take it off just before he entered the Three Legs. He nodded to himself and looked down at himself. It was alright. Corduroy, a jumper, a black pea coat, black boots. Simple.

He nodded again and apparated. She wouldn't be there.

It was drizzly, cold and even though he only had to walk around the building, he knew where to apparate to, despite usually taking the Muggle way of transportation, he pushed his hands deeply into the pocket of the coat he had acquired a few weeks before. He liked the heaviness of the wool, how comfortable it was. His wand fitted perfectly in the sleeve, or in a pocket and on his way around the building and towards the front of the pub, he lifted the glamour and secured his wand in his sleeve.

To say he was nervous would be – wrong. Absolutely wrong because she wouldn't be there. But to say he was utterly comfortable would be wrong as well. There was still the possibility that she might show up after all. He didn't know what he felt – didn't know how to act if she was there or if she wasn't. He never really had to see someone again after such a long time who had been so close. He breathed deeply – once more the fresh, cold air outside, before he stepped into the pub. The dingy, ale-smelling pub.

And in the middle of it – her. Like – no. Not like the light in the dark. But she didn't look right in that pub. She didn't belong into the Three Legs. Did he? More than her. Of course he fit into that damn pub. She belonged to – he wasn't sure. He didn't know the kind of places but she looked so – no. She had changed in the past 9 months? Or how long was it? Nine and a half months. Something along those lines. It did not matter – she looked so – beautiful.

No, really. He had expected her to look nice but not like this.

And she had not seen him yet.

xx

She checked her watch nervously. Past twelve. When did he had lunch? Why had he not told her more precisely? She had to use more than one jinx on those leering, drunk men sitting around. And what for? To meet him – to have him probably tell her that she should stop writing those letters, that it was not seemly, that he wouldn't reply any more, that she should mind her own business.

Seemed likely after all those short responses she had gotten from him. She drank the last bit of her now stale, warm coke and decided to wait ten minutes more inside – and then ten more minutes outside before she would probably leave again. Or not.

"Hello," a voice said in her ear from behind and she was ready to hex yet another patron – but then, she smiled.

"Hello," she turned her head and saw that it was him. He looked – better. Quite pale but not sallow, thin, his hair still greasy though not as bad, his teeth still yellow and crooked, still a hooked nose. His face was close to hers and she caught a whiff of his scent over the ale and she closed her eyes only very briefly – and tried to memorise it. Take it in. Never forget it any more.

"You shouldn't be here," he said and she felt him straightening behind her.

"I shouldn't...what?" she turned and looked at him.

xx

He had to bring her somewhere else. Somewhere where old, alcoholic buggers weren't leering at her, where she didn't seem as beautiful as she did in those dingy surroundings. Somewhere she wouldn't shine so much.

"I see your hearing and powers of comprehension have not changed," he smirked – he hadn't done that in a while and it seemed – difficult – to do so.

She frowned. "They haven't," she mocked. "But you said you had lunch here every Tuesday. That is why I am here."

"This is worse than the Hog's Head," he said and nodded towards the door.

"But...your lunch?"

"I will not starve," he looked at her with his dark eyes. To say he was lost in her brown, warm eyes would be an exaggeration. To say that he wasn't would be a lie.

xx

She had missed him. She had missed him. Missed his humour, his snarkiness, his scent, his being there, his eyes. Oh God, how she had missed those eyes. She felt calm the moment he had began to look at her – and then not calm at all. Too confusing, so very, very confusing. Why did an old friend that she had shared some kisses with that much of an effect on her – she didn't know. She honestly didn't know but she knew that she would get lost in his eyes again soon. Almost a year, well, nine months and a bit and she was – so affected by him.

She couldn't stop herself, she tried. She actually fought against the urge to speak. She did and she couldn't stop herself. She knew, even before the words left her mouth, that it was wrong to say it.

"Severus, I think we have to talk."

However, his reaction – his immediate reaction was not what she had expected. Not at all. He was silent for a moment, his eyes on hers again, as his lips curled into his smirk again. "Not here, Hermione," he said softly and a hand grasped her elbow, "not here."

_**xx**_


	60. Chapter 60

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

He walked next to her in silence, not knowing what to say, what to speak about. She had said she wanted to talk and true, he missed two-sided conversations. An owl could only hoot, or nip but could not give any real answers. And he longed, to be honest, to ask her about the vaccination, about how she had done it, what had made her research it, and how it had all worked out.

And not only that – she looked so happy and that led him to one conclusion. One single one. She was – with a man. And who would expect her to remain alone when he had just bolted? It was his own fault, just disappearing, never writing. Someone like her would not be alone for long – it was his fault – his own fault but to be honest, he was very curious – especially who it was.

Severus felt strange. It almost was as if he was angry – but then not quite and the thought about someone pawing her, hugging her, kissing her, made his blood almost boil.

He was – jealous. His eyes widened in surprise. It was jealousy. Plain, simple. The same things – multiplied by maybe a hundred, that he had felt when he had seen Lily with those Gryffindor idiots.

Multiplied by a hundred?

Oh dear.

He stared straight ahead. This couldn't be, could it? After almost a year of not seeing her?

"Where are we going?" she asked suddenly, looking up into his face and he wasn't prepared. He supposed the shock, the surprise at himself, everything, was plainly showing.

"I think you should go back home," he said voicelessly.

Jealousy never was good – no. He didn't want to feel this. Didn't want to think about it – about her – any more. No. She had to go. And never to see him again. He never should see her again either. It was better to stay away. Stay away.

"No," she said suddenly, very loudly and determined. "I came here, waited in that rotten pub for over an hour and you're not sending me away."

He battled with himself – really did. He wanted to sit down with her, look at her, talk to her, eat with her. But then he knew what would happen – he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about this, about meeting her, about her, for the next week, or next fortnight, or next, who knew how long and this...not good. No, it wasn't good.

"Miss Granger," he began, hoping she would – correct him. No, she wasn't the marrying type, not so quickly, not so fast.

"What's with that?" she asked, obviously angrily and she quickened her step and stopped him with two hands on his chest. "What?"

"You should go home, Miss Granger," he said quickly before he could beg her to stay.

"I don't think so," she pushed against his chest and he could feel her hands, small but so insistent pushing him to a standstill.

No – he screamed inside – don't touch me. Don't make this harder. I should hate her for what she said.

"Severus, I know I hurt you. And I'm sorry. I was in pain, I was hurting and you just told me you'd leave me. Do you know what the rest of the school year was like? Without you there? Without someone to talk to? I set up my floo and spend almost every night at the Hog's Head. I studied there, I talked to Harry but it wasn't the same. I wasn't lying when I wrote that I missed you. I still do. I miss talking to you, sitting with you, just the silence we had sometimes. I miss that. I miss you – all of you. As my friend and whatever you were. I miss the snarkiness and the way you looked at me sometimes. And I will not be sent away until you tell me..." she seemed to run out of steam and her eyes fell on his chest. "I don't know what," she shrugged. "I don't want you to sent me away, please," she added softly to his chest.

"Hermione," his voice was even raspier than usual – she missed him, missed him? "What about your boyfriend?"

"What boyfriend?" her eyes snapped up again. "You think I have a boyfriend?"

He raised his eyebrows. "It stands to reason, doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't actually," she snapped back. "How did you reach that conclusion?"

He didn't know what to say – she missed him, she had missed him and she had no boyfriend. As my friend and whatever you were, she had said. Whatever he had been. He wasn't sure but her hands were still on his chest and the odd, strange feeling of jealousy in his stomach had subsided – to be replaced by something else. A tingling, bubbling. A horribly wonderful feeling and he – impulsively – grasped her hands and looked down at her as she, as soon as his hands touched hers, had looked up.

"Shall we eat?"

xx

She nodded gratefully. Of course she wanted to eat with him and she had understood, in that moment, one thing.

Severus Snape was scared.

Had been scared when he had thought that she had a boyfriend. Why he would think that? No idea. She didn't know. And when he had taken her hands, she hadn't cared. She smiled sheepishly, and she knew it. She let her hands fall from his chest and as a result, his hung limply by his side.

"I like your coat," she grinned.

He nodded sharply and began to walk slowly.

"Is it new?"

"Yes," he replied again.

He was still there. She walked besides him for a while, every other second looking over slightly to see if he was still there and he was. He walked – and his walk was the same as it always had been, no matter if he was wearing robes or – this. And she really liked the coat – navy-style, so dark blue that it seemed black and corduroy trousers. She couldn't help the smile that appeared on her lips when that fact sank in. Muggle clothes. And they looked good on him, almost natural.

"I really like it. And the trousers," she smiled up at him.

He – as a reply – scowled. "It is not smart to wear robes here."

"Severus, may I ask a question?" she asked when she followed him to another pub, this one much cleaner, much more respectable.

"I might refuse to answer," he replied, taking his coat off when the temperature of inside the pub hit them. Warm. Very warm.

"The press never got to you, did they? The Prophet, as I said, thinks you're dead. Plenty of people do."

"I doubt I am of such great importance that there are myriads of reporters chasing me. But yes, there were some once or twice."

"Have you read any of the Prophets since you left?" she asked, smirking. She hadn't read them herself – but the digest she got from people was huge. And detailed.

"Of course not. What a ridiculous idea," he held up his hand. "Drink? Food?"

"Erm, yes, sure. Anything. No alcohol though, please," she smiled.

He nodded and strode towards the counter – and Hermione, for the first time, got a glimpse of his backside now. The trousers were more loose than the black ones he had always worn at school and the dark jumper revealed less than the white shirt he had worn underneath his frock coat at school – but – this struck her as being so normal. And not only that – he looked – approachable. And the woman on the table next to them seemed to think so when the bint's eyes followed his frame almost hungrily.

Hermione knew that she had – at this moment – no claim on him. Well, in a way. And in a way, she had. She was after all, the ex-something. And that gave that bloody stupid woman no right to look at him that way and she found herself glaring at the damn cow. Oh, no, no way. She would not continue to look at him like this, standing all innocent at the counter, ordering her drink. And her lunch. Not hers. Bloody cow. No right to leer like this. He wasn't that handsome, was he?

But yes, in that bloody jumper, he bloody was and in those bloody corduroys, he was as well. Sort of. At least his backside. That was – whew. Oh God, how shallow had she become? Ha – but this is where she had the advantage. She knew him. She knew about him. She knew what he liked. She knew...at the moment not much, she realised and groaned quietly.

"Something wrong with her?" his voice sounded close to her ear again and she looked at him quizzically. "You've been staring at that woman over there."

She shook his head viciously. "Of course I wasn't."

"Yes, you were," he said with finality and put a glass of coke – again, in front of her. "That alright?"

She nodded. "I had it at the other – establishment."

"I noticed," he smirked and walked around to take the seat opposite her. "Steak pies on the way."

"Oh," she beamed. "Haven't had that in a while. Harry's been on honeymoon and Abe's not too fond of cooking."

"Mh," he muttered and took a sip of his own, clear, sparkling drink. Whatever it was.

xx

She had stared at the woman that had been staring at him. And with what kind of possessive viciousness. Or maybe that had just been his imagination.

"Oh, as I was saying," she said suddenly and grinned at him, startling him out of his musings about what she had looked like when she had stared. "The Prophet calls you spy-who-defied-he-who-must-not-be-named-until-the-very-end. Note the hyphens, please. It's all hyphenated. And they're running, according to those who read the paper, an article about you at least every other day."

He stared. "No."

"What do you mean, no? Yes. Really. According to Poppy Pomfrey, they figured out where you grew up and went there and searched the place."

"I've noticed," he muttered.

"Oh. Oh!" she exclaimed. "You're still there? But how? They said that they found the place empty."

He leaned over the table – sure that at least she should know where he was – she would not tell anyone. She disliked the press as much as he did – and beckoned her a little closer. "I'm a wizard," he whispered with another smirk.

She grimaced and leaned back a little. "I know that," she replied exasperatedly. "So you're really still back there? Doing what?"

"Aren't you curious," he smirked. "And how did you ever manage to brew this dragonpox vaccination potion? And find the ingredients?"

"Aren't you curious," she mocked.

"No, I was serious," his features darkened a little. He really wanted to know – and if he had to trade answer for answer.

"Well," she sighed dramatically, "the Manderwort was quite difficult to find and put into the potion. I think I was close to melting about a dozen cauldrons."

"And how many did you melt?" he interrupted.

"None. My reflexes are good," she smirked back. "And I studied muggle vaccination first. You know they ..."

"I'm familiar with how it works."

"So, basically, everyone will get a mild form of dragonpox – might not feel so well for a day or two but I tested it – and it worked," she shrugged. "Really, it's a wonder it took me so long but with Buettel there..." she trailed off and took his hand over the table. "It would have been quicker with someone who actually understood potions."

He looked into her large, brown eyes and squeezed her hand on the table. And made no move to let go of it.

xx

She had to touch him. She knew it wouldn't be the way it had been. She knew they would not leave this pub and just before apparating home, he would not sweep her up in his arms and kiss her senseless. It wouldn't happen that way. So much time had passed, so many things happened, and they couldn't just pick up where they left of.

Oh – but she so wanted to.

His hand was warm and still calloused – still making potions then.

"Severus, what are you living on?" she asked suddenly.

He arched an eyebrow – seemed to challenge her.

"Potions?" she guessed. "But...how?"

He rolled his eyes now – and waited a moment, and another moment, and another, before he finally opened his mouth to speak. "Yes, potions."

She sighed. "And how do you do that? I don't remember a company with your name."

"Don't be daft. Of course I wouldn't sell the potions under my name. Nobody would buy them," he replied, sighing, just as dramatically as she had.

She nodded. "I'm not getting more out of you, am I?"

He seemed to think for a moment – then, out of nowhere, squeezed her hand again. "No. But I would very much like to learn how to brew the potion."

This was it – the ticket to get into his life again – the thing she wanted most right now. And she would make the best of it. She would force her way back in – make sure he understood that the things she had said had only been said in pain. That she had not meant them. That she was still something to him – and that he still meant so much to her. That she wanted to be with him. And this – oh – he had so put himself up for it. He was in now – and he wouldn't get out any more. She had him.

xx

She was beaming by the time she replied. "Of course I will. Do you have a lab?"

"Of course I have. How do you expect me to brew potions if I don't." Why was she beaming again? He wanted to learn about the potion – not anything else. So what if he had a lab – and had basically invited her there? He couldn't very well stride into Hogwarts and learn there, could he?

And she beamed all the way through her meal. He didn't understand – except, maybe – she really was looking forward to working with him again. He couldn't find another reason – though, truth to be said, he couldn't think all that much as she was eating. Really, if he ever needed proof that he was really a man (not that he did), that had been it – all decent thought gone out of his head as soon as she had begun taking a fork in hand.

He needed a clear mind – needed to – he wasn't sure what he needed. Time with her. More. But that wasn't possible. Especially since time really was a fickle thing – and flew.

"I should leave," she said apologetically, glancing at her watch. "It's half four already and I should be back at Hogwarts. I need to get the rest of this text read for Minerva. And rounds later."

She seemed – almost sad to say this and he had to admit to himself that he was surprised by how late it already was. He, too, had a little work to do, some preparations for the next morning. And maybe it was better for her to leave.

And for him to make up his mind about her. Because he suspected that he was in – no. That couldn't be.

xx

She smiled and took his hand as they had walked around the building – it was a quiet backyard, perfect for apparition.

"When will I see you?" she asked suddenly before she could stop herself. She really said a lot of things that she shouldn't when he was around.

"Send an owl. Hermes will find me," his other hand, mysteriously, found her other and they stood, holding hands, facing each other.

She nodded and smiled. "I really enjoyed today," she said softly.

"Me too," he said so quietly she had difficulty understanding him.

Hermione smiled again. "Good bye Severus," she whispered and, with a squeeze of his hand, was gone, straight to the gates of Hogwarts. A moment longer in his presence and she wasn't sure what she would have done. Kissed him, probably. Most likely.

She sighed deeply, hiding her face in her hands.

"Bloody hell," she said to the darkening sky, "I'm in love with Severus Snape."

_**xx**_


	61. Chapter 61

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Hermione did know how it looked like when the headmistress lost her temper. Really lost her temper. It hadn't happened often, once in a while, yes, never directed at her, but she had witnessed it occasionally.

Nothing – absolutely nothing she had ever seen before could prepare her for what she saw coming, rolling, steam-rolling towards her that morning.

She hadn't really thought about anything. Had been happy that her rounds were quiet, had been happy, well, ecstatic to have seen Severus again, had been a little scared because she had realised that she was – well – in love with him, but really, it was quite a normal morning, until – yes, until she had walked into the Great Hall for breakfast. She ate at the staff table these days, naturally, but she was acutely aware of the fact that every single pair of eyes were on her that morning. And that was quite – unnatural.

"Hermione!" the headmistress had shouted and she hadn't even sat down. "My office!"

'Oh God,' Hermione had thought, 'what have I done now?'

But, like a good little girl – apprentice, research assistant, slave, whatever, she had followed the headmistress. Meekly. Because she really wasn't sure if she had maybe overlooked one or two students on her rounds. Seriously – who could hold that against her? She was in love, for Heaven's sake. She didn't mind one or two couples snogging – or whatever – in some dark corners. Not even after curfew. She wasn't Severus Snape – she was merely in love with that man.

Yes, true – she thought it too many times – but somehow, it hadn't sunk in yet.

In love with Severus Snape.

In love with Severus Tobias Snape.

Hermione Granger is in love with Severus Snape.

Hermione Jean Granger is in love with Severus Tobias Snape.

Missus Hermione Snape.

Missus Hermione Granger-Snape.

Missus Severus Snape.

Missus Hermione Jean Snape.

And yes, she did skip a bit – every other step, to be precise – as she was following the headmistress. But truly the old woman should realise that nothing, absolutely nothing could destroy her good mood that morning. Not even a pregnant student. Or – a flood. Or a hurricane. Or – mice in the classrooms. Or Buettel forbidding her to brew ever again.

Nothing.

Except -

"Have you seen this?" the headmistress thundered and banged the Daily Prophet on her desk – just as Hermione had (smilingly, of course) taken a seat.

"You know I don't read the Prophet," Hermione shrugged and stared at Minerva's hand – pale, a little, a few liver spots, a few wrinkles, neatly cut nails – that, unfortunately, covered what she was apparently supposed to see.

"You should," she spat. "You, Miss, have a lot to explain."

"I don't..." now, she was utterly puzzled. Explain? This could only mean – nobody had followed her, had they? Had they found her? And worse – him? Oh no. Oh – oh no. No. No. She cleared her throat and lifted her head defiantly.

Really, she did like Minerva – but when she was in a mood like this, almost foaming from the mouth and a couple of wisps of hair escaping her bun and her eyes flashing and her free hand ready to hex anyone in her way – she found, she didn't. Still, no reason to show her she was a little – a tiny bit – afraid.

"If you don't put your hand away, I'll never see what got you so agitated," Hermione shrugged.

"What got me so agitated? That you knew about this all the time and let all of us think that he's dead or lying in some ditch suffering. Or collecting social security or whatever the muggles call that," she pointed her finger sharply at Hermione – just in front of her nose, almost touching her nose, in fact. "You knew. And you let us talk about him all the time."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Hermione replied, a bit like a petulant child, really.

"This," Minerva shouted and lifted her hand from the Prophet.

Damn.

Damn.

Damn bloody shit.

Really.

Someone had followed her. And someone – and she swore to God and all the other entities that were out there with some divine way that she would torture this person, hang them by their toes on Gryffindor Tower – had snapped a picture of them.

The worst picture imaginable.

Not them in the pub, quietly talking, or eating. Not them walking next to each other.

No – it had to be with them, standing closer than she remembered, her hands on his chest – and his on hers.

"Bloody hell," she swore. Picture-Severus slowly brought his hands up to hers again, and Picture-Hermione smiled. Smiled of heaven's sake. Smiled like the madly in love woman she was.

"No this can't be happening," she muttered, not really caring about the headmistress and her fuming temper any more. "This cannot be happening. He's going to bloody kill me."

"So this is Severus Snape?" Minerva asked coldly.

"Yes," she replied miserably, putting her face in her hands. "It's him and I've met him again for the first time since he's left. Yesterday."

"But you knew he was fine? You knew and you didn't tell anyone? Do you know how worried I was?"

"I knew since, I don't know, I got a note from him before Christmas. On Harry and Dotty's wedding day, I believe. And we've kept up a light correspondence since then," she continued sadly. "But after this, I doubt he'll want to see me again."

"Did he tell you not to say anything?"

Hermione sighed. "Not precisely, no. But – oh God," she groaned. "I was the reason he didn't wear a glamour, I was the reason he was there and – no it's my fault, again, that he's in a position he doesn't want to be in."

"You love him?" she asked sharply.

Hermione looked up sharply. "In this picture, I stopped him from leaving before I could get an explanation. Nothing else."

"Do you love him?" she repeated.

The younger woman sighed again, breathed deeply and looked into Minerva's eyes. "No. But I am in love with him and I won't let you or the Prophet destroy that."

"Interesting. And how long has this been going on?"

"Since yesterday," she replied coldly, looking straight into her eyes.

"You're in love with him since yesterday?"

"Yes," Hermione fibbed. "I haven't seen him before. I mean after he left school."

"Where is he?" Minerva obviously had decided to change the topic ever so slightly.

"I don't know. He didn't tell me."

"Fine. Whatever you say," Minerva was still, apparently, angry. "Tell him, when you next see him, that I will hunt him down."

"Whatever for?" Hermione got angrier as well, "He's made his life now – he likes his life. He's not met with constant hostility and suspicion, as far as I can tell. And this is one thing he values," she stood up and once more, met the headmistress's eyes. "Now, if this was all, I'll better get back to your research."

She left without looking back and did not notice the headmistress putting her face in her hands and sighing and swallowing hard and feeling that she had made a big, very big mistake at that moment.

xx

"HERMIONE GRANGER! WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL US SNAPE WAS ALIVE? WE WERE WORRIED ABOUT HIM AND YOU SNOG HIM IN PUBLIC! NOT FAIR, 'MIONE, NOT FAIR!"

Hermione knew that a Howler from Molly Weasley sounded bad – and that even though, one of Harry wouldn't be as bad, it was still making her feel like she was not very – liked – at the moment. So she had not told anyone that she was meeting Severus, but who had expected that? It was on short notice, well, almost, and what would she have said anyway?

"Hi Harry, sorry to disturb you as you're just returning from you honeymoon but I have to tell you that Severus and I had a little thing going before he left school and now I'm finally meeting him again, because, surprise, Harry, I'm really in love with him now?"

Sure.

She watched the Howler destroying itself with some kind of satisfaction and curled up in her bed.

What an exceptionally idiotic situation. She had really thought she had paid attention if someone had been following her – especially with a camera but apparently – no.

She shook her head and sat up – quite wearily, quite tiredly.

xx

_My dearest Severus,_ she wrote

_I hope you are not too angry with me but it seems that you've been discovered. Please try to get a Daily Prophet. I am very sorry, I did not see anyone following me. _

_Yours,_

_Hermione_

She felt better, yes, after this. But had no idea what would happen. And she hated not knowing what would happen. Last night, she had been so sure that they could, would – with a little time – be together. Somehow.

Today, it felt nothing of the sort. He would force her out of his life again.

And with very good reason, probably, this time.

_**xx**_


	62. Chapter 62

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Severus looked at his owl – then smoothed over the paper – and – smirked.

"That is certainly one way of making them realise that I'm not dead," he told the bird gently. "About time to. Bloody reporter should have picked up on that anonymous letter days ago. He shouldn't have discovered me with her, but this picture is nice, isn't it?"

He looked at it again and it was as if he was watching two other people. Two other people in – love.

Those two people there, him holding her hands, and her, holding onto him, they seemed happy.

No, really, if he looked at this picture objectively, pretending he didn't know that it was him, he would have spat that he thought they were disgustingly happy – disgustingly in love. Such as it was – it wasn't just two people – it was him and Hermione.

Hermione with her sweet note.

_I hope you are not too angry with me but it seems that you've been discovered. Please try to get a Daily Prophet. I am very sorry, I did not see anyone following me. _

No, he was not angry. Especially since the reporter had not followed her – but him.

It had been quite an idiotic move, that was true but since he had realised, since Hermione had informed him, that people thought he was dead, murdered, probably, and since public opinion of him had risen, he knew that he had taken the entire thing way too far. He had never meant for this to happen. No, really, he had only wanted to disappear from Hogwarts, not more, not less. And be away for a few days, weeks, probably, a breather from those people, a – he wasn't sure how to call it – a break, for lack of a better word, from his colleagues – digesting the thing with Hermione, lick his wounds and then, then it had sort of spiralled out of control.

The fake address, the name of the company, in a hurry putting away all furniture from Spinner's End, hiding in the lab in the cellar whenever someone came close.

It was – when all was said and done – a game.

A game he was now bored with, tired of. And high time to end it – on his terms.

That's why he had written that anonymous letter.

_Severus Snape is in Leeds every Tuesday even though he might wear a glamour. _

Certainly not the way he would have phrased it but that was the point, wasn't it? Only, he had expected to be found a week earlier and had, truth be told, almost forgotten about the letter to the reporter, Scoop Schund his name was, of the Prophet when he had made the suggestion to Hermione.

But – to be completely honest, he did not mind. This was an image of himself that was better than anything he could have hoped for. True, she would probably be mad, to be used like that, but he had tried to send her away. Not only because, well, because he had realised that his feelings might still be genuine – but also, probably, because, maybe, subconsciously, perhaps, he had know that a bloody photographer might be somewhere in sight.

And to make the front page, Hermione smiling up at him – lovingly? – was not something he had expected. Still – she was no student any more, there was no kissing in the picture, he was merely holding her hands and she had her hands pressed against his chest – maybe to use her like this, to be actually happy when she was on tenterhooks because she felt guilty wasn't the right way. Maybe he should have done it differently – meet her when people had known he was alive and well and thriving.

On the other hand – the conclusions that they (and by they he meant the Wizarding World in it's entity) could draw were tremendous and only to his advantage. To be seen in public, with a young woman, obviously in love – wonderful.

If -

If only it hadn't been Hermione.

He sighed. She was not someone to use. And he didn't want this to be the last time he had been so close to her. No, definitely not.

This was the first woman – the very first woman – he felt something more for that just mere physicality – since Lily. This was the first woman he wanted to wake up with in the morning. The first woman he didn't want to cast away after the deed had been done. This was the first woman he could actually imagine making a life with – and that, mind, after a year of not seeing her. That had to be some kind of record. Or maybe, mayhap, perhaps, perchance, not a record but that damned, bloody, blasted, cursed four-letter word. The one beginning with L, not with F.

"No, or could it be?" he asked Mercury and his little owl, in response, only hopped a little closer to his huge barn owl with no name.

He growled and turned back on his desk. Enough musings. He was alive, the wizarding world knew it and they knew he had met Hermione Granger. That was all.

xx

He had to admit that he did argue with himself and that he thought that he could hear the voice inside his head again, telling him to just do it – but maybe that had just been a figment of his imagination. Maybe. Who knew.

But then, the probably sensible side won – or was that sentimental? He knew, both sides that had been arguing, that he wanted to see her, wanted to talk to her, all the things, wanted to show her his lab, wanted to learn about the vaccination – but how to do it – that one was difficult. And that was the matter of the argument.

The one side thought it would be quite nice to just stride into Hogwarts after all – demand to see her (everyone had seen them together now after all), grin at Minerva and all the rest of the bloody teachers, tell them to go to hell and tell Buettel that she wasn't worth a knut, pick her up and talk to her there.

The other side thought it would be quite nice to meet her somewhere, side-along apparate to Spinner's End, get some take away on the way, maybe some nice Indian or Chinese, or fish and chips, and talk to her there, though – this wasn't completely appropriate, was it? Them, alone together, in his house? But then again, they had been together, alone, in his quarters. More than once. And he had not really thought about appropriate or not there.

Things, though, had changed. She had grown. She had been different. No, that wasn't completely right. She was still Hermione – but a bit older, a bit wiser, another gleam in her eye that she had not had before. Something – adult.

Something, confirmed by the picture on the front page of the Daily Prophet, that wanted him. Wanted to be with him. Oddly enough.

Two drops of ink fell on a parchment and with a huff, he vanished them. He needed to decide something.

One thing was clear. He wanted to see her again and soon.

'Hello again,' the voice in his head said suddenly. It was back.

'Not you,' he replied, growling.

'Me!' it seemed quite chipper. 'Now, dear Snape, write on that bloody parchment that you want to meet her there and then, bring her here, let her explain the potion, then tell her that you're in love with her and take her upstairs.'

He remained silent. Torn – that was how he felt.

'You could at least answer me,' the voice added – annoyed.

'I don't see a reason for that,' he sneered. 'You're just a voice in my head.'

'Not quite, Snape. I'm you. Or a part of you and you know it. The part you wanted buried a long time ago. Newsflash, twit: it isn't. I'm still here. And I'm still the part that will be there, whenever she is near to tell you to hug her and hold her and kiss her and never let her go. Because – you want it.'

'Rubbish.'

'That's what you say,' the voice laughed. 'I know you, Snape. Better than you know yourself. Now listen to me and write her and tell her that you will meet her.'

xx

_Meet me in the backyard of the Three Legs in Leeds tomorrow at five pm. _

xx

He watched Mercury take off – and didn't know that what he had done was right.

xx


	63. Chapter 63

_**The usual disclaimers apply**_

_**xx**_

He paced.

He knew it was early and that she wasn't supposed to be there for another ten minutes, but he paced because he waited for her. Not that he knew what he was going to tell her – what to reveal, what not to reveal, what to do, actually. How close was too close? Was a hug alright?

Oh well – since he was in an admitting-to-himself-mood since the day before, he might as well admit to himself that he missed hugging someone. Granted, he hadn't done it often, he had merely responded to hers and he hadn't done it in nine months but still – there was something – wonderful – in being hugged by her.

But back to those questions – how – how could he explain without actually having to explain that he liked her, that he wanted her there. That he had not left Hogwarts because of her but despite her. That he had not wanted to leave her but when they had had that fight, when she had said those things to him, or that thing – that something inside of him had – not understood, had broken. Again. That he had realised in that moment, that he'd always be the evil Death Eater in the memory of people. That he had realised that opinion did not change. That this was like a scarlet letter sticking to him – or rather like a black, faded mark, stuck on his arm. Forever. And this was all people could see.

Or rather, that was what he thought – before Hermione had filled him in with all the details that had happened – and since Mercury had managed to get some old Daily Prophets and he had been able to read them. Not that he actually believed this celebrating of him as a hero. But, he believed there was a certain acceptance of him – as being what he had to do. And he didn't want people to like him – or worship him – after all.

He paced. Just paced and waited.

"Hey," he heard suddenly behind him and spun around quickly.

"Hello."

"I'm sorry I'm a bit early," Hermione replied and stepped a little closer to him.

Oh – his reflexes were really bad these days. Not hearing her apparition? He should have heard that instantly, should have turned around by the time she had landed and gotten her balance. He could have never survived this way two years ago.

He nodded, deciding to stop this thinking for thirty seconds and concentrate on her. Smiling there at him – in her coat, jeans and boots.

"Shall we proceed?" he asked.

"Where?" she asked, startled, "Severus, I'm really sorry about the pho..."

"Later," he growled, "Are you familiar with side-along apparition?"

She nodded, her brow furrowed. "Where are we going?"

"I thought you wanted to show me how you make the vaccination?" he drawled and knew in the moment that he did not have to think about hugging. He chuckled on the inside (not that he would ever be caught chuckling by anyone other than his owls) and stepped in front of her and – with almost no hesitating (there might have been a moment or two, or three, or four) – he enveloped her in his arms and waited another moment, enjoying the look on her face (surprised, content, smiling) before he apparated them both straight to the outside steps that led straight to his cellar in his backyard. He could also use the backdoor (that lead into his kitchen) from there but since nobody could actually see into his garden/backyard, no neighbours could see him. And that was the purpose of the entire exercise.

Had she just snuggled up to him? Was that her cheek on his chest? He looked down – and yes. Yes. She was close, she held him tight, she was catching her footing and clinging to him. She clung to him. Actually clung to him, had her face buried in his pea coat and her hands clutched to the back of said coat.

He wanted to stop himself – but couldn't. His nose was suddenly in her hair, sniffing, realising her hair still smelled the same way it had all those months again, it still felt as soft as he remembered, still was her hair. His lips, somehow, were on her head as well but he didn't really move them. So, technically, it wasn't a kiss on top of her head – was it?

"I missed you," she suddenly said against his chest

xx

She didn't want to leave his warm embrace. He smelled the same way and despite the missing robes, it still felt the same way – and she still felt the same way – protected, sheltered, safe. Herself.

And – and – he kissed the top of her head again.

Definitely broomsticks in her stomach now.

She knew they had landed where he had wanted to take them – but stepping out of the embrace? No. No way. Absolutely not.

"I missed you," she whispered against his chest and didn't know whether he had heard her or not but his arms tightened briefly around her and his face was, for a moment, deeper buried into her hair.

"We should go inside," he said a few seconds later.

Really – that hug, that apparition, it couldn't have taken more than thirty seconds, maybe 45 but it felt so much longer, and then again, too short. Too short. Too, too, too, too short.

"Yes, probably," she looked up and smiled. She couldn't help the goofy smile. Even though she tried.

And he smiled back.

Smiled back. Just like that. It was one of his little smiles, the one had had given her before and she felt like the world stopped – or maybe skipped. Or maybe that it ceased to exist. She wasn't sure which and she didn't care.

"So, where?" she caught herself.

"Inside," he said rapidly and began walking down the stairs, leaving her to follow him.

She did – watching his backside again – and liking it. She smirked. He wasn't angry at her for being discovered, on the contrary, it seemed – and while, until now, she had been just happy to see him again, to be hugged by him (even though it was for apparating), it seemed a little – just a tad – odd. He would usually, the way she saw it, make a fuss – probably threaten her with hexes and jinxes, something that would transport her to the next week in a rather uncomfortable way, or, in the very least, would call her a dunderhead and cut her out of his life again.

None – absolutely none of this had happened. He had welcomed her with open arms. Literally and metaphorically.

"Severus?" she asked as she followed him through the heavily warded door into the cellar.

"Yes?" he asked and looked over his shoulder, his face a neutral mask.

"Aren't you angry at me?"

"Should I be?" he asked sardonically.

"I mean, about the picture and the fact that people now know about you."

"They already knew about me before," he replied, an eyebrow raised, then turned around, walking towards a heavy, brown door.

xx

She was onto him. She knew he wasn't angry with her and why should he be? It was his own fault that the picture was in the paper (with the insipid article to go with) and he could not, for the life of him, blame her. Maybe he should have acted a little more angry. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

No, he would bend the truth a little. He unlocked the door to his lab and held it open for her.

"I was not entirely - unhappy, that the picture was in the paper," he said slowly.

"What? Wh...?" she asked, stepping into his lab – then gasped.

He knew it was beautiful – for someone interested in potions. It was small – one oak workbench, a little higher (he disliked sitting while brewing) than usual, had enchanted windows, therefore there was a lot of light, a notebook was hoovering over the workbench, an ever-inked quill hoovering right next to it, and there was a stool (for the time between brewing, while writing, jotting down ideas) and, while most potions workroom's walls were bare – or maybe lined with gruesome things – pickled animals or parts of animals, he had put his shelves there. Usually, this would be dangerous – the ingredients reacting with whatever he was brewing but he had put up enough wards to make sure he was safe. This gave the entire room a more – worky – atmosphere, made it a little smaller as well but at the same time, made sure he had everything on hand whenever he needed it. The shelves were oak as well and the walls a stark white. The ceiling was the way it had been. Plaster. Nothing more when the floor was granite. Dark grey granite – didn't react to anything that spilled on the floor just as the oak didn't.

And she seemed to like it just as much as he did. This was – truly – his favourite room in the entire world. He liked it better than his lab at Hogwarts, better than any other room he had ever occupied, maybe even better than the courtyard back there. She was wide-eyed, open-mouthed and her hands – they had stilled completely. She stood completely erect, her shoulders and her back straight, her breathing, judging from the way her chest moved, shallow and uneven. Not that he stared at her breasts – he just noticed.

"I take it you like it?" he drawled – almost sarcastically.

"Like it?" she gasped. "I love this. It's so beautiful. Wonderful, amazing. But the shelves, the ingredients?"

"Spells," he replied quickly. "Quite safe."

"Severus, this is – oh my – it's beautiful. No wonder you didn't want to be found. I wouldn't want to be found if I had a lab like this," she gushed and turned to him.

He arched his eyebrows and clasped his hand in front of him. "I do rather like it."

"Did you do it all by yourself?" she asked, looking around, then looking at him.

"Most of it, yes," he replied – and knew he sounded stiffer than he wanted to. But – it was time to open up some if he wanted to hold her more often. Or all the time.

"Most of it?" she asked – and it was just as he had expected.

"The bench is my mother's," he replied. "But I suppose," he added – more acidly, "you heard about it from Potter."

"Harry? No. Harry just sent me a Howler for not telling him that I was in contact with you. And Minerva, by the way, gave me a dressing down for not telling her. They miss you," she sighed, "so, no, I do not know."

He sighed. "The bench was my mother's. She hadn't used it in a while and her husband used it as a muggle bench. He even had a vice on there," he shook his head. "After – erm – he didn't use it any more, and I got the house, I used it occasionally when I was here. Since I'm only brewing here, I made some adjustments, the height, for instance," he ran out of steam and looked at the ground. Talking about his family to Hermione?

Oh. That was – probably too much. The Death Eater with the rotten family.

"Your dad used it? But that's almost blasphemy," she replied quickly, "it's a normal potions table, right?"

"Yes, of course," he grunted.

"Then there are a lot of spells on there. To use it as something different would be..."

"My father did not like witchcraft and wizardry," he said softly.

Hermione's eyes widened a fraction and he knew she had understood. "One of those, huh?"

"Yes," he replied sharply. "Now, the vaccination?"

She shook her head and stepped towards him, her hands – as they had before – on his chest. "Can't have been easy."

Severus found himself – quite accidentally – shaking his head. "No," he replied and as before, he held her hands.

"I understand," she nodded and – it almost felt like she was compassionate.

xx

A muggle father. Apparently. A witch as a mother. And a father who did not like the entire wizardry-thing. Not uncommon. Of course, she didn't know. Not for sure but she knew the way that her parents were – sometimes still – wary of magic. Or more than wary. Disliked it.

Accioing things at her parents' house? Out of the question. Cleaning spells? Never heard of. Cooking spells? Dish-washing? Done by hand or the dishwasher. Potions? No.

She understood and she had to touch him. Make sure he knew that she did not pity him – but knew what he was talking about.

"Things like that are horrible," she said softly and looked deeply into his dark eyes. Something shifted in them. Something changed – and she had no idea what.

But – she knew what she felt when his fingers brushed over hers – repeatedly.

"Severus?" she whispered and found herself on her tiptoes. "The vaccination is quite simple," she added breathlessly but found their faces getting closer and closer. She was leaning even further upwards and he was bending down.

"I..." she began and suddenly, his lips were on hers. Or hers on his. She didn't know how had done it. Or why. Not that she cared why.

It was every bit as soft, as wonderful, as – tasty – as she remembered. It was him – there, all over her, all around her, in every fiber of her, and the way he kissed – it was – magical. In the muggle sense of the word.

Her hands slid over his chest, up his shoulders to his neck, touching, cupping each side, stroking his skin with her fingertips, and at the same time, parting her lips, letting his tongue slide inside, playing with it. It was still a tender kiss – but there was power and force behind it. Something just bubbling underneath the surface and she was the embodiment of curiosity. She pulled him closer by the neck, tangled her fingers in his hair, pushed herself against him, flush, her curves pressed against his angles and she wanted to gasp, wanted to moan, when she felt his hands against her back, pulling her even closer, incredibly closer.

xx

How he wanted to kiss her – and how he did. Or she did. He didn't know who started it – but it was, after all, inevitable.

A month – four weeks – he had been angry at her, hurt by her. Then he had missed her – had wanted to go and see her, had wanted to kiss her like they did now. Pulling her to him until nothing could fit between them any more, his hands in her hair, on her neck, on her back, her lips on his, her tongue wrestling with his, her scent in his nose and his ears and eyes and everywhere.

He knew this was the perfect moment. Nothing – nothing in his life would probably ever be better than kissing Hermione in his lab. Absolutely nothing.

_**xx**_


	64. Chapter 64

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

"Stop pacing, for Merlin's sake."

"I don't want to stop pacing," she huffed and glared. "Why hasn't she told anyone? Here we are, worried about Severus and Hermione goes around meeting him. Obviously very cosily."

"Erva, she had probably good reason to do that," he tried to placate.

"There is no good reason to keep something like that from me. What was she thinking? And there is something going on between them. She can't say otherwise now. Did you see that picture? She was looking like a puppy in love."

Aberforth Dumbledore knew his wife had a temper. He knew that, once riled up, she could go on like this for ever and ever. She had always been this way, had always done it. Since he had known her – a fair few decades ago. And while he loved that temper (and the way she looked when she ranted and paced – especially now that she was just wearing a nightgown), he knew that he would not get any sleep if she continued that way.

"Calm yourself," he said sharply – and, in his nightshirt, stood in her way, pulled her in his arms and closed her mouth with two fingers. "She probably had good reason to keep it from you. If Severus asked her not to say anything, she wouldn't. You know Hermione. You know Severus as well as you can know Severus. And he does not trust easily. Why would he? He has absolutely no reason to do that. Do you know he was always alone in Hogsmeade even when he was in school here? He always was alone, he didn't trust any one after Lily Potter and that girl's heart was cold. He now obviously trusts Hermione and that girl's heart is anything else but cold. You know that as well as I do. I don't claim to have known Lily Evans, she never was in the Head, too dingy for her but I do know Hermione Granger. And if Hermione told him to keep it quiet, then she would have and she wouldn't have told you. It's a simple matter of trust. Can you blame her for wanting him to trust her? She knows as well, maybe better, than we do, that Severus needs, _needs_, a friend, someone he can rely on. I know you think you're his friend, or were, and maybe, you were, but he needs something different. He probably needs that young woman in his life, a new start, something fresh. Someone in his life who's his friend and something more. I do know the difference between talking to someone who you like and talking to someone who you love. And you should know that as well. You should know that it makes it simpler to snuggle up to me and tell me things than to sit at a table and talk to whoever. And you know that you've told me more since we've been married than probably anyone in all the years that we were not together. I know I did. And Severus is even more introverted than I am. So let it go. Write him an owl, or talk to her again but calmly and not incriminating or accusing."

She glared at him by the time he was done and then, after he had not spoken for a second, she pushed his fingers off her lips. "Do you have to rub it in all the time? That I haven't been there for him?"

"I'm not saying that," he replied calmly, "You have been – as far as he allowed it. But you should respect that maybe, he's going to let Hermione further in."

xx

Hermione stared into the bottomless, dark pits that were his eyes, her breathing rapid, her lips tingling horribly pleasantly, her entire body reacting to him and she didn't want to pull away – no, she wanted more.

More. Him. Severus. With his amazingly beautiful eyes once he lowered his shields a little, once there was a little warmth in them.

"Hermione," he whispered and drew her to him again, his lips descending on hers.

She really couldn't tell what he was thinking, much less what he was feeling but since he touched her face so gently, so softly and since she did not have the feeling to be rushed – but rather did the rushing herself – she thought, in that one clear moment she had before something inside of her took over, something that she had not yet known before, something that she had not felt, nor experienced before, that he needed her, wanted her as much.

Her fingers were trembling when she moved them to the top button of his coat – undid it, then the next, and the next, and the next and pushed the heavy coat off his shoulders finally – when she found her own already in a heap on the floor and her trembling fingers suddenly at the hem of his jumper.

xx

He couldn't let her go through that – as long as she didn't know the truth. Or at least some of the truths.

"Hermione, stop," he gasped when he felt her fingers on his bare skin. On his stomach. Her fingers on his stomach. In his lab. With his own hands dangerously close to the hem of her jumper and already making their way underneath it. Too close.

But not too late to stop.

"Hermione, stop," he pulled away (and made sure not to push her away) and grabbed her hands – standing a bit away from her.

"Severus?" she asked puzzled and her hair looked deliciously wild, her lips wonderfully, thoroughly kissed, her chest heaving and he wanted nothing more than to pick her up, carry her upstairs, put her on his bed, peel the clothes off of her, kiss her entire body, hold her, be with her, be one with her.

But not like that. He couldn't base this on a lie. Couldn't base this on the fact that maybe she was doing it because she felt like she had to apologise for the picture.

"I have to tell you something," he said rapidly – this had to get out. Now. Now. No matter if she ran screaming. No matter if he destroyed his happiness by saying it. He couldn't base it on a lie. On a deception.

Deceptions had ruled his life for so long. Not any more. Not with her. He had always been honest with her. Always. And he needed to.

"The picture was not your fault," he said, still a little out of breath.

"What?" she asked and, probably instinctively, grasped his hand tighter.

"This reporter was trailing me for a while now and I might have – encouraged it, even."

"Encouraged it?"

He nodded and wanted to let go off her hands – but she wouldn't let him. She just stood, staring at him. "I might have told them where to look for me."

"Where to look for you?" she shook her head. "You told them where you were? Those idiotic people? And they were there just as I was...?"

"That, no, Hermione, no," he said – and felt a little panic rising. "As you said, idiotic people and they just showed up a week later than I had anticipated."

"You engineered the entire thing? The article? The photograph? Are you out of your bloody mind? If you didn't want to be thought dead any more, don't you think there would have been a better way than to tell someone from the bloody Prophet to go and look for you? Or invite them to some place?"

"That is what I did," he said quietly, almost defeatedly. "I only told them what I told you. Leeds. Tuesday. And that you were there – I..." he shook his head. "I didn't think he would miss me the week before."

She shook her head. "Do you have, erm, something to drink? Tea?"

He nodded. "Upstairs, but - "

"They know you're alive now and will probably come here again. Are you a wizard or not? Can't you not just ward the house?" she asked, an edge to her voice.

He nodded again. "Follow me," he said, his hands, still clasped in hers, he hung his head a little, his black hair, as a curtain, shielding his face. He was – startled by her reaction.

And he still wanted her. A lot. Wanted to kiss her senseless. He swallowed, then lifted his head.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," he whispered and she seemed to exhale sharply. She let go off his hands and followed him – up the stairs while he, at the same time, waved his wand and spoke incantations – made sure this house could not be opened, nobody could get in.

"Let me see if I get this right," she began as she was leaning against a small table in the kitchen, "You told the Prophet you're alive. In an anonymous letter, I presume. And because those people are idiots, they didn't find you straight away. Then, you decide to show up with me, without a glamour, without polyjuice, just as yourself, even if you were wearing muggle clothes. And nobody, not even a stupid reporter from the Prophet could not see that. And he snaps a few pictures and I'm on them. Bang, makes the headlines. But you didn't know that I would be there. You thought they'd find you the week before, and then, without any pressure you could meet me? Is that it?"

"I'll give you my oath that I did not use you. That I did not want to involve you and to be honest, when I saw you, I didn't even think about the damn reporter or photographer any more," he looked in her eyes, deeply and took a step towards her. "Please believe me," he added quietly.

He wanted her to believe him. Wanted her to say that it was alright – that it had been an idiotic idea but what was done was done. Nothing to be said about it any more.

As a matter of fact, she didn't.

She just looked at him, and pushed herself off from the table and almost in his arms. "Anything else I should know about?"

He shook his head. "You're not angry," he stated – more to himself than to her.

She chuckled. "What about? For you to do the Slytherin-thing and instead of hiding out in this house for the rest of your live, making it simple to become a public figure, more or less again? For you to being able to go out on your own again? Not to freak out, even though your plan went completely wrong and the front page looks as if we're – I don't know, lovers? No, I'm not angry."

"You're not," he whispered again, stunned. She really wasn't. And put like she did – well, it sounded like something he would do. Something that made sense. A bit. He shook his head in astonishment and gazed deeply in her eyes. And gazed some more, seeing that her eyes began to smile as well as her mouth.

"I'm just relieved it wasn't my fault. I don't think I could have bear it to know that I pulled you out of your - solitude," she said softly, stepping closer.

"You already did," he replied and moved to her as well, knowing that it would be fine.

"I forgive you," she whispered and their mouth were almost touching again -

when the kettle whistled.

xx

"Harry?" Dotty's face was pale, her hair hanging limply down her face when she came back to the little cottage they had rented just before they had gotten married. It was right behind the Hog's Head, since both of them were working there now, as Aberforth had almost retired, and spent more time at the castle than in his own pub.

"Yes?" he shouted from the living room.

She sighed and toed her boots off. Transport with the floo, even now that she had used it for a while still made her sick. Even sicker than she was already feeling lately. All her suspicions had been confirmed. By a muggle doctor. Had said the same thing that the little two blue stripes had said. And it was too early for that. She was eighteen. Eighteen. She had never planned to get married so early. Or – pregnant.

In about seven and a half months, she would be a mother. A mother. Oh god. A baby. A little person. Someone who completely relied on her. Someone who needed her. 24 hours a day. And she had barely time for herself. And for Harry. And for them together. They'd only been married for such a short time.

"Oh God," she said aloud and suddenly Harry stood before her.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned and hugged her.

Dotty sighed. "I was at the doctor's."

"What? Why? Something wrong?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"What? What is it? What happened? What do you have?" he asked, worry etched in his features, his hands gripping her upper arms tightly.

"A baby," she replied miserably.

"A what?"

"Baby. Tiny human. You know, those things that cry all night long and need nappies and feeding and love and whatnot."

"You're pregnant?" he asked.

"I'm pregnant," she nodded slowly and let herself fall in his arms.

xx

"Have you seen this?" Ronald Weasley shouted at his wife and slammed the English Daily Prophet on their kitchen table where she sat with their baby.

"Non, qu'est ce que c'est que ça?" she asked.

"Hermione with that slimy, evil, killing gitty bastard," he shouted further and did not notice his son shrinking back in fear. He only rarely heard his father shout but when he did, it was something serious.

"Who?"

"Severus Snape. She's seeing Severus Snape," he cried angrily. "How dare she?"

Gabrielle arched her eyebrows and looked at her husband. "Why do you care?"

"It's Hermione with the git," he said with finality and sat down in a chair, still reeking of sweat and quidditch training. "Can't you see how wrong that is?"

"I don't know why you still care," she said softly, "you haven't spoke to her in a long time." She picked up the baby and turned to him. "Can't believe you still love her," she added and left the room with her son on her hip.

And Ronald – said nothing but only scratched his head.

xx

Hermione found herself, suddenly, in his arms again and she finished what she had started earlier and finally pushed the jumper over his head, her hands all over his chest, drawing patterns, feeling the skin, the sparse black hair on his chest and the teasingly, wonderfully erotic line of hair from his navel into his trousers.

He, at the same time, seemed to have found pleasure in nibbling at her neck, her ear, her collarbone and his fingertips were mapping the bare skin underneath her own jumper. She couldn't – wouldn't – probably shouldn't believe that she was here, in his kitchen, touching him, and finally, her naked upper body pressed against his, melting against him and her lips eagerly exploring his.

It was – the beginning of a dream come true.

"Where's your bedroom?" she asked against his lips and smiled at the way he gasped, then – answered with a shriek when he picked her up and carried her upstairs.

A frenzy – or not a frenzy but a pleasurable drawn out, long, wonderful, beautiful, exceptional – experience. Alone to feel him so close to her, as close as a man and a woman could ever be, one, almost, to feel him all there, so concentrated on her, so focused on bringing her to heights she had not known before, this alone drove her close to insanity. And he was the one to rescue her, the one to keep her back, keep her mind and lose it at the same time.

Until, only until there was only one, one single thought in her head. One single word.

And that word was Severus.

xx

He couldn't remember it being so wonderful. So connecting. It had been a while, yes, but he could say with absolute certainty – if he would ever regain the ability to speak (which he doubted) – that he had never felt this close to another woman he had ever had sex with. It had never been this way. Never. In all his life and he was, well, not a teenager any more.

She lay now, next to him, breathing hard, covered only barely by his duvet and he had rolled on his side and watched her, her eyes still closed.

"Do you want me to leave now?" she asked suddenly and cracked her eyes open a bit.

Oh – oh no. That was what she was thinking? That he would send her away now after the deed was done?

Oh no – he wasn't the type.

"No," he said briskly and grabbed her arm and pulled her flush against him. "I certainly don't want you to go."

She smiled and closed her eyes again, breathing his scent, apparently, and he pushed his nose in her hair and held her to him, soft, warm, naked Hermione in his arms. "I'm glad. I wouldn't want to leave either."

He sighed – and for the first time in his life – closed his eyes with a woman in his arms.

_**xx**_


	65. Chapter 65

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

She had a chance now to look at his bedroom – with him lying behind her, his arm possessively around her, his breathing even and deep – and he was probably asleep. She could have never lain like this with Ron – no, he was always pushing something into her, a leg, an arm, poking her, whether he was awake or asleep. Severus was a calm sleeper. He barely moved, except a finger, once in a while, over her stomach.

He had a little alarm clock on his bedside cabinet, muggle, obviously, an it seemed quite old – but – it showed the time. Eleven. She hadn't gone to bed so early for a while. And since they had gone to bed a lot earlier, this made it even more remarkable. His bed? Comfortable. The mattress was a little too hard for her taste, but she supposed he needed it, or wanted it. The pillow he had, perfect and she was picky when it came to pillows – but then again, she half lay against his arm and half on it, and she couldn't imagine a more peaceful, a more wonderful position to be in at the moment. It was mind-boggling. He breathed into her hair, and was pressed against her back and his knees against the back of hers – how he had managed to get into that exact position, folding himself, she wasn't sure and she didn't want to turn around to find out. Or – heaven forbid – slip out of his embrace. The most she could do was lace her fingers through his and let her eyes wander around the room.

The furniture, apparently, was old. Maybe his parents', though she doubted he would keep anything from them if they had the bad relationship he had implied. It was still old, and dark wood. If she knew anything about wood, she might have been able to pinpoint exactly what it was – but she didn't. It was simple – a wardrobe, a sideboard, the bed (double-bed, not king-sized, certainly not super-king-sized), of course, the same wood as the headboard, cotton, blue (!) sheets. Cosy. Snuggly. Warm.

His wallpaper was a dirty sort of white, no pictures on the walls – the ceiling the same colour. Nothing personal in the room – apart from their clothes strewn over the floor – and around the entire room. She especially liked his boxers (who knew he was wearing boxers?) hanging from the lamp. She didn't remember throwing them that far away – but she remembered wanting them to be off – and quick.

Still, it made her chuckle seeing them hanging there and while she really tried to keep it down, he was moving behind her.

"Something funny?" he asked in a voice she had never heard before – deep from sleep, rumbling at her back, a little husky.

"Your boxers up there," she replied, lifting her hand, which was still attached to his – and hence lifting both their hands and pointing at the lamp.

"You threw them up there," he replied.

"I actually don't remember," she chuckled and carefully turned in his arms, looking at him, touching his face with her fingertips. He was completely free of all lines, all wrinkles, everything. He looked not only extremely relaxed but young. Very young. And – most of all – happy. She had never seen him this way. Never. And she didn't expect many people to have ever seen him like this.

She snuggled up closer and kissed him sweetly. "You look happy," she remarked, beaming.

xx

He had actually fallen asleep with someone in his bed. And that had never happened before. True, it was only a nap, short and refreshing, and waking up from her giggling in his arms – oh God - this was definitely the evil four-letter-l-word. She – in his bed – and he, sleeping with her. In both senses of the expression. Sleeping and sleeping.

She turned in his arms and touched him, with a smile on her face, mind, even kissed him. She knew he was there – and she wasn't revolted or realised she had made a mistake. She was just there – naked – in his bed – her leg suddenly slipped between his and one of her hands in his, the other on his face, then his neck, his side, his hip, up again.

"You look happy," she suddenly said and his breath caught in his throat.

Happy.

Happy?

Really, how lucky was he? He knew he was. Very. Very lucky to have that woman, that wonderful, beautiful, lovely, sweet, compassionate, understanding, smart, brilliant woman in his bed – in his arms. He knew. And yes, that made him happy. If he'd know the concept.

"Mh," he mumbled and kissed her closed eyelids, one after the other, as gentle as he could. He found it – astonishing – that she did not flinch, that she had never flinched when he'd done that. He knew it was a matter of great trust for her to be there, to let herself be kissed there.

But no – she sighed happily. Just sighed happily and stretched a little before she stroked his back, brushed over his scars.

He realised that he was no Adonis. He wasn't handsome by anyone's standards, not his face, not his body. There were scars, yes, and suddenly, he felt quite self-conscious. She was young and beautiful and she was here – with him. He looked at her for a moment – then when when he saw her lips twitch – slightly – he rolled around rapidly, pulling the sheets up to his neck – and over it, covering the snake-bite-scars there.

"Severus?" she asked, confused. "Did I hurt you?" Hermione, suddenly, was behind him, her arm on his arm and she peeked over to see his face – and he supposed she could see something there – or sense something and she pulled the sheet down and kissed Nagini's scars lovingly.

"If that snake wasn't dead, I'd kill it right now," she whispered and let her hand slide over his arm, underneath the sheet and to his hand where she took it, held it.

"I have this little scar just next to my eyebrow. You can't really see it because most of the time I'm sloppy and do not pluck them as I should and so nature takes over and covers it almost, but I always know it's there. I know the story of the scar, and I'll always remember it and the person who did to me. It's just there, see?" she asked and a little awkwardly, and quite uncomfortably for him, twisted her arm so he could feel the indeed tiny little scar on her face. Maybe a a centimetre long and he wasn't sure why he had never seen it – maybe, she really was sloppy with her eyebrows. Not that he minded, really. She was beautiful, just the way she was.

But it was there.

"It was the year before I came to Hogwarts," she explained softly, bringing their entwined hands back to his side. "There was this girl at school, Chantal something or other and I absolutely disliked her. Really, really disliked her. And vice versa. We got into a fight one day. Stupidly, I made a book fly towards me and she saw it. Next thing I know she was yelling at me for God knows what and I yelled at her and suddenly, I find my head banged against a desk in the classroom. It was bleeding like crazy and I had to get stitches. I only broke her finger," she seemed to smirk snuggled against his neck. "But it was the index finger of her right hand and she couldn't write for a while. Unfortunately, she was liked, I wasn't. And I got detention, she got off a little lighter. Sheesh, I was so glad when I got my Hogwarts-letter. And I swear, if I see Chantal thingummy today again, I'll hex her into next week. You probably think that I make a huge fuss about this tiny, tiny scar but it's not that. It's the fact that it was my first – my first visible after all. Scraped knees and such don't count."

She took his hand and pushed her arm further down until his fingers rested at her upper arm. "This was from that bloody troll. Remember?"

"Mh, silly Gryffindor going after it."

"I wasn't," she replied. "I can't believe you still believe that. I'd forgotten about our cover story."

"What do you mean?" he asked, his head turning slightly and his eyes flicking to hers. "What is the real story?"

Hermione sighed and snuggled to his back, "Ronald Weasley made a comment about me and I realised there and then that I still had no friends at Hogwarts. It was just like before. No friends. I went to that lav to cry. And I was still there when the troll came in. Harry and Ronald – they rescued me. So to speak."

He groaned and disentangled their fingers, reaching behind himself, grasping her hip.

"This one," she pulled his hand to her lower back, "was from falling down the Chamber of Secrets when we destroyed the Horcrux."

"Hermione," he whispered voicelessly and pulled her hand back – to his chest – a little further up then and kissed her knuckles.

"Yes, Severus?" she asked and pressed herself against his back and kissed his shoulder. "I'm not nearly done, you know? I have a few more," she added softly. "And trust me, I'm not proud of any one of them – but every single one tells a story, every single one is a part of me and I'm not ashamed of them. Granted, they're not the prettiest things but – I've always thought that they showed my strength, what I have survived. Even if it's just a tiny thing like a girl banging my head against the desk. I still went to school the next day, with stitches and a mild concussion and looked a dreadful sight. But I survived, I went back, I showed her I wasn't weak. I survived a mountain troll, a fall down the Chamber of Secrets, and plenty more things. I'm not saying they are badges of honours – but memories. More helpful than any scrapbook."

He let go off her hand, knowing what she wanted to achieve with her little speech – just one thing – to make him feel better. And it did. He had survived. Those scars – every single one of them – was not a badge of honour, but a memory – something to remind him that life wasn't always perfect but far from it.

He turned on his stomach and turned his head as well, looking at her, and she was smiling. He then took her hand and placed it on what he knew was the largest, most ugly, almost white scar on his back.

"That one," he began voicelessly, quietly, "was from my father when I was around 16 and threatened him. He took my wand and I wasn't able to do magic without it then," he noticed – his voice was not his own. It was someone else telling the story – like he always thought someone else had been there, someone else getting the – well – "he broke my nose first, then, he took his belt."

"Oh God," Hermione gasped and apparently seemed to lean down – and kissed his scar. "Would you tell me why?"

He leaned a little further into the cushion and spoke into it. He knew it was barely audible for her – but how else could he tell? He hadn't told anyone before, after all. Nobody. It was after Lily had – well, not forgiven him. "He had violated my mother. Again. And I couldn't bear it any more."

He suddenly found himself being hugged from behind by Hermione. "Thank you for telling me," she whispered in his ear.

"I took my revenge on him later," he replied voicelessly.

xx

It had blown her. She had not expected a perfect little home life – a perfect family – but this? A belt causing that kind of scar? He must have been beaten within an inch of his life. By a muggle.

And anyone still wondered why he had turned to a muggle-hating lunatic who had hated his muggle father? Nobody could. Or she couldn't – at least not after seeing it. After hearing him. There were probably two dozen more scars, more or less large on his back – and she had seen a little less on his chest and arms and he had spoken – almost like a scared boy.

She couldn't help herself, even though she knew that he hated pity. But this was not pity – it was compassion. It was rage. And she could not blame him for hating his father. She would too – and she even did now. She hated his father. For violating his mother (and she could absolutely imagine what that meant) and for hitting him like this.

Still – what he said caused cold shivers to run down her spine. "I took my revenge on him later."

"You didn't kill him, did you?"

He looked up at her – jerkily, fear in his eyes. "No."

She nodded and snuggled next to him, slipping his arm over her shoulder – she lay – in effect – on her belly right next to him, their sides almost touching and their heads turned towards each other. "He wouldn't have been worth it. But – to do something like that to you – it, I'm sorry, but it hurts me."

"He died," he replied coldly, "Liver failure. 1981."

"Your mother? Is she still alive?"

"No," he shook his head. "1978"

She nodded again – knowing that something like 'I'm sorry' wouldn't go down well with him. Instead, she kissed him lightly on the lips. "Do you miss her?" she asked instead.

"No," he replied and sighed. "Tell me about the vaccination."

She laughed. This was like him. Changing the topic.

But – but this was – amazing. He had told her something of himself. It was like getting a prize, completely unexpected. Like she was shown a completely new side of him – that he wanted her to understand him. And she did better now, she knew.

He had a history – like they all had – but his was – probably a little more moulding.

Still – they had a long way to go – and she knew in that moment that there were plenty of secrets, plenty of stories locked deeply in his memory. And she had absolutely no intention of forcing him to do anything. No, instead, she would give him time – would do the mature, grown-up thing. Would let him tell her – would not ask. Or try not to.

Hermione smiled and kissed him again – when she knew that maybe she had a way, of making him understand that she was for keeps. That she wanted to stay. Wanted to be with him.

"Would you mind if I stayed the night?" she asked softly and was rewarded by a stunned look, then one of his little smiles.

xx

"You don't mind, do you?" Dotty asked, sitting between her husband's legs in front of the fire.

"No, on the contrary. I mean a baby, Dotty, what could be greater?"

"You're 19, I'm 18, sweets, do you know what it means, a baby?"

"I know and I also know it wasn't planned that way, that we got carried away but honestly, I can't really say that I'm unhappy about it. Honestly, I am overjoyed."

"You are?"

"Absolutely!" he almost yelled at the back of her head and hugged her tighter. "I'll be a dad."

"You're happy."

"I am! And you should be too. A little one, Dotty. We'll manage somehow. It won't be simple but we're not alone. You've got your aunt and I'm sure Abe and Minerva will have to say something about it and Hermione, of course."

"And Severus?" she asked, with a grin – relieved, somehow.

"Over my dead body," he smirked and pulled her to him. "You made me very happy today."

Dorothy sighed. "I'm glad."

"And you'll be happy in time too, right?"

"I'm sure."

xx

He nodded briskly, and pulled Hermione back into his arms, rolling on his side.

He knew that the evil l-word wasn't so bad – it could be quite nice, if it was always this way – with her being so close and understanding, not asking too much (even though he doubted it would always be that way. She was – Hermione Granger – after all).

Severus Snape – he – understood. Without the help of the voice. It was his soul and her soul – and they formed one – making two lonely souls unlonely.

He kissed her – deeply – without saying a word and knew, instinctively, that he didn't have to. Something inside of him was taking over and he knew exactly what he had to do – even without thinking about it.

xx

It was odd – or wonderful – but when she was with him, like this and before, she knew she wasn't alone. They were together and they formed one. That was why her body fit so perfectly to his and his to hers. That was why they were here together. As one.

She never wanted to leave this bed, never wanted to leave his embrace, never wanted to part.

She arched against him, feeling him moving with her – and she knew she was complete, knowing, somewhere, deep inside, from the way he looked at her, the way he moved, that he felt exactly the same way.

_**xx**_


	66. Chapter 66

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

He really couldn't get away – he tried but Swiss quidditch was exhausting. Well, it sort of was true was people said about the Swiss – punctual, accurate, precise, correct and disciplined. It was just the way people back home always thought it was. Training every single day – for around 7 hours, sometimes eight and then the management expected some sort of publicity all the time. Signing autographs, giving interviews.

In short – with time spend with his son and his wife – he really couldn't make it to England. Even though he absolutely wanted to. It had absolutely nothing to do with his marriage and with the fact that he didn't know what to talk about to Gabrielle but really – Hermione and Snape? That couldn't be.

It had nothing to do with the fact that his marriage was failing and that he did not love Gabrielle. It was only for her well-being. She couldn't possibly be with the git.

And he knew Ginny would completely agree. Even if the rest of his family wouldn't.

Ginny – his sister. Poor girl was only thinking quidditch since Harry Potter had gotten married. Not that she had thought much else ever since she had been a girl. It was embarrassing sometimes when she had only two topics: quidditch and Potter. Or, worse, Potter playing quidditch.

But he could make it today – he would apparate to Holyhead first, meet Ginny, then go with her, probably, to Hogsmeade and try to find Hermione. And talk some sense into her.

Worse enough that she had stayed at Hogwarts, being in that school all the time couldn't be good, but then hooking up with Snape? She certainly was under a sort of curse, Imperius, probably – or a potion. Powerful love potion. The Git would be able to brew something like that.

He smirked – and strode optimistically towards a place where he could apparate long-distance. Gabrielle did not know where he would go. But he had written a note after all.

xx

Hermione sighed happily and looked over her shoulder where Severus stood, scowling, over a cauldron. It did not do at all, apparently, what he wanted the potion to do. She smiled.

Connecting her fireplace to the floo had not been difficult – convincing him to do the same – one way, of course, his to hers and vice versa, wasn't either, but telling Minerva that she would begin to study under him as well – that had been.

She remembered, with dread, how the headmistress had been rather cold at first.

Until she had probably realised that what Hermione felt was real – and especially after Hermione promised to put in a good word for the headmistress with her – lover (what a new word – what a lovely word) that he would eventually, probably, maybe, meet up with her. Not that she had talked to him about it yet. And she had no intention to do so for a while.

So – she spent every other afternoon with him – and, conveniently, spent the night on those days. It was just practical, really. Apart from the fact that it was also – quite nice. He seemed to revel in the fact that she loved to fall asleep in his arms, next to him, and he seemed to be opening up to her gradually. He told her a little about his parents – that he had never been able to understand the relationship they had, a little about the first few years teaching, and a comment or two, never more, about the time he had served one, then two masters – and then mostly about the time when they had seen him, occasionally at Grimmauld Place.

Those talks were mostly happening in the dark, after they'd been together, and sometimes, he let her take him in her arms, had talked to her collarbone, had held onto her tightly and she had to admit, that she enjoyed it.

In those moments, those hours, really, it was just the two of them. She didn't care that there was an entire world just outside his bedroom, and she forgot completely about it. It had only been a week, well, eight days, but she already felt closer to him, more connected, more together, than she had ever felt with anyone else. Not that she could compare him to many – but neither Viktor with his stalkerish tendencies nor Ron with whatever it was that he did – were even close to what she had with him.

And he – apparently – felt the same way – or something similar. He had, quietly, moved behind her and had put his hand, tentatively, on her hip and stood behind her, peeking over her shoulder to see what she was writing.

xx

The way she smiled at him spoke volumes. She was happy to be here. Happy in his lab, happy to be studying here. Apparently. He knew. Her face was an open book and he knew that she was getting to know him better as well.

It was surprisingly simple to talk to her when they were in the darkness of his bedroom and he lay with her, holding on to her. She didn't ask much, didn't talk much either but he knew she was there, she listened, she grasped his hand or fingers or arm when she felt it necessary – and he was – grateful.

He still had no idea what he had done to deserve this amazing woman in his life – what made her come back every other day, as clockwork, every other day at the same time through the floo. Always. She always stayed the night – always asked if it was alright, always was – had a spot of breakfast with him (only coffee, for him, normally, and tea for her) before she went back to Hogwarts. Owled during the days when she couldn't come and he, quite honestly, did not quite understand. It was – unexpected. And wonderful.

He sighed. The potion? Wouldn't work this way. "Evanesco," he muttered – soothed by her smile and stepped to her and carefully – he didn't want to startle her – put his hand on her hip.

"Hey," she looked over her shoulder and smiled again. What a smile. He knew he was in love with that smile – and with her – and had not told her yet. He would not. Or would probably later. Not yet.

He peeked over her shoulder – a parchment full with Arithmantic calculations in front of her. He knew she was working to turn the dragonpox vaccination into a cure. And the way he saw it – it wouldn't take her long.

"Potion not working?" she asked, turning around on the chair. He had made a commitment. A small table – not bigger than those found in bars, and stools. Two.

"No," he growled.

"Is it a secret? What you're working on?" she asked and put her hands on his chest.

"A different kind of contraceptive potion. Since the conventional one reacts with the potion against the Cruciatus and since this will still be in your system, I'm not risking that. And we can't use contraceptive charms much longer since they will go ineffective after a while. You grow immune to it."

"I didn't know that," she said at first, then, suddenly, her face lit up again and she stood up, snuggling up into his arms. "And you want to develop another potion for me?"

He nodded curtly. "Hermione, I don't think – children – I mean, I..."

"Not yet," she interrupted – sparing him to say it. "Definitely not yet."

He pushed his nose deeply into her hair and breathed deeply. She was – brilliant. Just like that.

"Erm, Severus?" Hermione put her chin on his chest, and looked at him with those big eyes that made his spine tingle.

"Yes, Hermione?" he drawled, trying to hide what she did to him in that moment. That she could almost ask anything from him and he would say yes. That she could say anything and he would probably not go mad. That he would do anything for her.

"I, erm, Harry owled me. After that Howler," she began slowly, "And he wrote that he has news. I suppose, news in his case means that Dotty's pregnant or that they're buying the Hog's Head from Abe or something. Nothing big, I think, or, depending, really, if you think that either of those things are big but he asked me to ask you to, erm, no, he sort of invited us. I mean, he only knows what's in the Prophet since I haven't talked to him but," she paused to swallow – and – licked her lips. Apparently completely unaware of what that small motion made him feel and that by now, he would even say yes to meeting Potter, and frankly, he just stared at her wet lips – didn't listen to her.

"What do you say?" she asked, chewing her lips now.

"Yes, why not?" he replied hesitatingly – knowing that he probably just said yes to something he really did not want to do.

"Really?" she beamed and kissed him. Just kissed him.

Really – how had this happened? One minute he had been hated, despised, wanted dead – alone – and the other, he had someone to rely on, someone who hugged him, someone he could hug, someone who shared his bed voluntarily. And what had happened that he said yes to something she had said without actually really knowing what it was?

He knew why – because she tasted good. Because she was Hermione. His Hermione.

xx

"You'll really go to Harry and Dotty with me?" she asked breathlessly against his lips, her hands still on his neck.

"Yes," he growled, "but if you ask one more time, I'll change my mind."

She giggled and pressed another kiss on his lips.

"When?"

"Now?" she grimaced. "I thought I mentioned it."

"Yes, you did but I thought 'now' didn't really mean 'now'. I thought we had twenty minutes."

She grinned – knowing what he wanted – and she had to say that she wouldn't be completely against it but as it was, they were already sort of late. "Not really. But what about I owl Minerva and tell her that I'm at a crucial stage in brewing something new and can't possibly come back to Hogwarts tomorrow?"

"That sounds – adequate," he drawled. "I should just..."

"No, don't change," she shook her head. "Please?"

He rolled his eyes. "The things I do for you," he sighed. "Lead the way."

xx

Dotty stirred in the gravy. She had to admit that she had – oddly – come to terms with it. Harry's exuberant joy helped. The way he treated her helped – and the way he kissed her stomach whenever he could did. The way he sang in the shower. And the way he slowly, carefully, made love to her, telling her that he loved her, that helped. And by now, she was happy. Truly happy and truly looking forward to being a mother.

She had absolutely no illusions about the fact how difficult it would be. But since they lived close by and since Abe and Minerva and her aunt were there – and since she could bring the baby into the pub, could transform a part of the backroom into a make-shift nursery, they could make it work. Somehow.

And tonight, they would tell people. Harry had even written an owl to Hermione and since he had heard from Abe, who knew it from Minerva, that today was one of her Severus-days, he had actually invited both of them. From what she had heard, Hermione was basically crazy about him, barely spoke to anyone any more and just had those cow-eyes all the time, mooning over him. The Prophet, since neither had been seen after that first and only picture, explained that they had eloped and were by now on their honeymoon.

"So Dotty," she suddenly heard the voice of Abe behind her. "What's the big news? Has he already knocked you up?"

"Abe," she shook her head and turned around to kiss his cheek. That old man had become a grandfather to her – and to Harry. "Don't tell anyone."

He snorted. "Everyone's suspecting it. Well, Minerva thought at first that you were buying the Head but she budgered me until I told her that I didn't sell it. Yet. I might give it to your baby once it's born," he grinned and enveloped her in a hug. "Congratulations," he whispered in her ear. "When is the happy day?"

"Around the beginning of September," she laughed. "I'm about two months along."

He hugged her tighter for a moment before he let her go. "I'm very happy for you."

She grinned and followed him out of the kitchen. Minerva talked animatedly to Harry – she smiled. They had closed down the pub a few times in the last couple of months for private functions. It was good to know that they had friends – and could celebrate with them.

She had been tempted, for a moment, to call her father but then, no. Later, probably. He was a new father now himself and he probably wouldn't take it well to be a grandfather so soon. Besides, he had not bothered to write in almost half a year – and oh well – he hadn't even written back when she had told him about her marriage.

Better not think about it. She had her family here now. Minerva – a maternal friend, Abe, the grandfather, Harry – the husband and the baby in her stomach. She put her hand on her belly and saw Minerva grinning at her.

"My my, Mister Potter, Missus Potter, weren't you quick," she chuckled and quickly hugged Dotty. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," she smiled. "But I do wonder why we bother to invite you to tell you big news when you already know it."

Harry laughed and stood behind his wife, his hands around her middle. "It wasn't that difficult to figure out, probably."

They heard the whoosh of the floo and Minerva turned to Harry. "Who else is coming?"

"Should be Hermione," he nodded and opened the door. And stood very still.

xx

He smirked. That was probably just what Hermione had wanted to achieve. Shock the people into silence – not only by his mere attendance but by his appearance as well. And who had ever expected him to see in such clothes. The brown corduroy trousers he was so fond of and the blue jumper he was so fond of and his pea coat.

"Good evening," he drawled and Hermione, next to him, grinned.

"Hi," she said and ignored the stares she got from everyone and moved towards Potter's young wife – who was probably indeed pregnant. Since she was holding her stomach in the protective way that future mothers often did. "You are pregnant," she beamed and hugged the woman. "Congratulations."

Severus quickly remembered a few – some of those he still could remember – good manners and strode – not looking at the gaping headmistress and the grinning Abe and stunned Potter, to his – Hermione – and Missus Potter.

"Congratulations," he offered her his hand and she smilingly took it.

"Thank you."

"When are you due?" Hermione gushed in the way only women could when they met pregnant females. He breathed a silent sigh of relief when he remembered what she had told him not even half an hour ago. She did not want a child yet.

Not yet?

That apparently implied that she wanted one some day. Or maybe more. Still – this was not the time and place to think about that. He had people to stun (metaphorically – not literally) and while he could not bring himself to wrap his arm around Hermione the way he would now were he at home, he stood closer to her than he normally would to anyone.

"And? Morning sickness?" Hermione continued to ask her when he felt something pushing him. He spun around and looked straight into the angrily blinking eyes of Minerva McGonagall.

"What in Merlin's name were you thinking?" she thundered. "Leaving? Without notice? A quick note was all I got. In the middle of the night. _I'm leaving now. Much success in finding another potions master._ That was all."

"I think I remember what I wrote," he sneered. "I am neither senile nor suffering from memory loss."

She huffed and stood so close suddenly, that her nose was almost touching hers (tiptoes – he knew) and her eyes were still gleaming like mad. "And that disappearing act? We thought you had died."

"As you can see, I am very much alive."

"And apparently, according to the Daily Prophet, married already," Abe chipped in and pulled his wife off and back. "I'm glad you're back."

He nodded curtly and his glimpse fell on Potter. He just stared – blankly. "I see that famous empty Gryffindor look has not changed," he sneered and stood rooted on the spot.

"Severus," suddenly he felt a punch in the shoulder and Hermione stood next to him. "Be nice. You're surrounded by Gryffindors."

He turned to look at her. He did this for her. He wanted to be with her – and he had to get along with those annoying Gryffindors – probably a regular basis – if he wanted to do so. But – he knew he would always prefer those quiet hours with her when it was just them and the world was non-existent and didn't matter.

"Will you consider coming back to Hogwarts?" Minerva asked suddenly.

He was dumbstruck. And did not know how to respond.

xx

Minerva looked at him. He wanted to be with Hermione. She had never – never before had been able to read his face – until now. He wasn't sure what to say – and she wasn't sure why she had asked at all. But she needed him back. The accidents in Potions had increased dramatically. And she needed a capable instructor. Couldn't think of someone who was better suited for the job.

Especially in those clothes. And with Hermione by his side. They – she could see it in both their faces – belonged together. His face said so – and hers did since they had arrived – and before that.

She could see it.

Severus Snape was in love.

He wanted to touch her – and held back.

She couldn't remember seeing him this way. Not ever. Not with Lily – not with anyone else. He seemed carefree – happy – even though he kept that sneer, that smirk on his face.

"You should go back," Potter suddenly said and shook Severus's hand. "Hogwarts without the evil git? Wherever will the ickle firsties learn fear?" he smirked.

Minerva couldn't hide the grin that appeared on her face. "Potter's right, you know?"

"Potter is probably never right," he replied coldly and raised his eyebrows. "But I will think about it."

In that moment, four things, she thought, happened simultaneously. Hermione put her hand in his, he didn't pull back – Abe put his hand on her lower back, Harry had stood behind Dotty again and had his hands on her shoulders and the door burst open.

And in came red-eared, red-haired, red-faced Ronald Weasley.

_**xx**_


	67. Chapter 67

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

"Why are you all here?" Ron asked, suddenly seemingly embarrassed.

Severus quickly moved his hand out of Hermione's and moved it in front of her, pushing her slightly, subconsciously, behind him. The last time the two of them had met and fought, Hermione had ended up on his floor, crying in agony and telling him things she had not meant – because she had been in so much pain.

And he would not let this happen. She was his now. And she would be protected better from the red-headed menace. He would not even lift his wand and Severus would hex him right where it hurt the most. Just to make sure. Ronald Weasley would not come any nearer to his Hermione.

"We're having a private function," Potter said suddenly next to him and glared at his former best friend.

"Mister Weasley," Minerva said and moved to Severus's other side – Hermione now pushed behind all three of them but he felt her poking him and prodding and pushing herself between him and Potter.

"What are you doing here?" she asked curiously, and he had to put his hand on her back – but nobody could see it. They stood – four against one – Dorothy and Aberforth hanging back slightly.

"I wanted to talk to you," Weasley replied and stared at Hermione. "I can get the Prophet even in Switzerland."

"And you still believe that tripe," she spat. "Well, speak."

"Are you with him now?" he nodded towards Severus. "Or is that tripe as well?"

"That is none of your business," Hermione snapped.

"Ron, this is probably not the right time," Potter tried to soothe and stepped towards him and once more, Severus noticed how much he had matured – even more, it seemed, during the time he had been absent. Times changed – most things. Apparently even Potter.

"Mister Weasley, I don't..." even Minerva chipped in now.

"I just want to talk to Hermione," he said angrily. "Why are you with that git now?"

Hermione – just shook her head and slipped her hand – openly – into Severus's. "Ronald, let's get this straight now – you cheated on me. You knocked Gabrielle up while we were officially still together, I told you this before. You continued your life. You have a son now, right? Go to him and your wife. I don't know how many times I told you that. You continued, and I did. What I do or don't is absolutely none of your business any more."

Ron shook his head. "But still him?"

"Him. Him. Because I am the most important thing to him. He doesn't run off to play quidditch or tells me that beautiful girls chase him. Because he is focused on me when I talk to him and I know he doesn't think about anything else when we have a conversation. Because he..."

"He cursed you. He slipped you a potion," Ronald shouted. "This is not you talking, don't you see? Harry, that's not Hermione."

"That's the Hermione I know," Harry shrugged.

"And I," Minerva chipped in.

xx

Severus, oddly, remained quiet but he held her hand, tightly. Very tightly and she liked the feeling of it – when he occasionally brushed a finger over hers or over her palm or her fingertips. But he said nothing – in fact, she only noticed, that his wandhand was at the ready – that he would have it drawn immediately if he needed to.

She didn't think – for one second, she didn't think and smiled up at him – and when her eyes fell on Ronald again, the idiot had his wand pointed at her and Severus. More at him than at her and yes, Severus had his in his hand as well.

"Hermione," her lover said softly, "go back a bit, please. I don't want you to get hurt."

"See? And you'll do it," Ronald cried. "This is not normal. You would have fought yourself."

"And that's what I'm doing," she glared and had her wand drawn immediately as well.

She felt some tugging on her jumper – but did not react. Instead, she kept her eyes on Ronald Weasley and marvelled at the spectacle he made of himself – poor Ronald. Something was surely wrong with him. But she didn't care.

"Ens..." Ronald began to say an incantation, his wand trained at Severus but a moment later, he was bound and stunned and Severus smirked.

"Nobody hurts the woman I love," he said – and shot another spell at Weasley – bright yellow light this time.

"You do?" Hermione turned to him and stared – she knew she did. But he loved her. He had said so. In front of – so many people. He loved her. He loved her.

Instead of repeating the phrase, however, he turned to her and glowered. "That dunderhead should stay away or I don't know what I'll do."

She beamed up at him and grasped the front of the coat he was still wearing. "Excuse us," she said to the rest of them standing there – then at the green donkey that was standing in the corner. "I have some things to do," she grinned – and, a moment later, pulled Severus to her and apparated away.

She did not see the smirks on the faces – or the indignant ee-aaah the donkey made.

xx

"Severus?" she asked, suddenly standing in his living-room. "Did you mean it?"

"Weasley as a donkey seemed – quite fitting, yes," he drawled and took her in his arms. "So yes, I did mean it."

"And the other – erm...?"

"I love you, Hermione," he looked deeply into her eyes. He did. He really did.

She closed her eyes and buried her face deeply into his chest. "I love you, too, Severus."

He sighed happily. Her – in his arms? Perfect. Hearing her say that? A dream. A wonderful dream he never wanted to wake up from.

And he knew – knew in that moment when she leaned up to kiss him deeply – that this was only the beginning of their story. Only the beginning of a life lived together.

_**xx**_


	68. Chapter 68

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

**May 5th, 2006:**

"Hermione, there is an official-looking owl for you," he called for her from the kitchen where he was nursing his third cup of coffee of the day.

"Open it, will you?" she cried back from upstairs, "It's probably from Potions Monthly."

He grumbled. Had he known that getting married would entail being his successful wife's secretary, he probably – no, who was he kidding? It had been the second best day of his life when he had gone down on one knee and she had said yes with tears in her eyes. The best day of his life, he mused, looking at the brightly shining, relatively knew wedding band on his finger, had been barely a month ago. When they married each other. Twice on one day. First, officially at the Ministry of Magic – a binding – only the two of them, then, in the small church of Walton-on-the-Hill, with everyone present. Everyone worth being there. Minerva and Aberforth, Hermione's parents, some other of her relatives, Potter, his wife, their children Jamie and the almost newborn Katharine Lily. Katie for short. Luna Lovegood, Molly and Arthur Weasley, even Neville Longbottom had been there.

But truth be told – it had been their day. And he had just seen her in that beautiful white dress. Like a vision, his personal wonderful dream.

He smiled in remembrance. Smiling still did not come easily most of the times – he still loved to scowl but when he thought of her, he still felt a warm glow in his stomach.

"Enough of that," he muttered and with his features back to the scowl, he untied the parchment from the owl's leg, unrolled it and ready quickly.

"It is from Potions Monthly," he cried up to her. "And why are you taking so long? This is only a christening."

"I'll be Katie's godmother, Severus," she complained, coming down the stairs. "I don't know why you're so calm."

"Just because Potter convinced his wife of yet another insanity and named me godfather doesn't mean that I have to be all giddy," he grumbled back – but he knew he couldn't fool her – he was – pleased. Little Jamie liked to play with him, though Merlin and God only knew why. Jamie, with his five years, always insisted on sitting on his lap, having him cut his food and always talked to him. He didn't know why – and most of the time, he was annoyed – or – pretended to be. But Jamie – at least – didn't quite look so Potterish but rather resembled his mother. Katie, on the other hand, had something of Lily – and it didn't hurt. Not at all.

"It's no insanity, and you know it. You have a way with them. I think it's only the bigger children that cause you problems," she laughed. "And you've gotten better. Minerva said that you didn't take any points last Friday."

"Last Friday was the first day of classes," he argued.

"And that kept you from taking points in the past?" she grinned and slipped on his lap, taking the parchment from his hands as she snuggled closer. He held on tightly to her – it still hadn't gotten old – holding her whenever he could.

"Well, yes," he replied with a smirk. "Only obnoxious Gryffindors were exempt." He kissed her neck languidly – loved the smell of her, the taste, the feel of her skin.

"Severus stop," she laughed, and pushed the hand away that had sneakily made its way up to her breast. "Next month? They want to include the bloody article next month? They can forget about it. It will not be ready within the next ten days."

He arched an eyebrow and turned her sideways on his lap. "The worst thing about this is, that you will do it anyway. And I'll have to sleep in a cold bed."

She laughed and kissed his nose. "No, I don't think so. Are you ready to go then?"

He groaned. "And another one of those occasions where I have to endure hours of Minerva talking and cooing with her husband, and Potter beaming proudly because his wife and his children are so brilliant, Molly Weasley, bothering me – but no, this time, it will not be the 'when will you make an honest woman out of Hermione' speech, but the 'is Hermione pregnant yet' speech. Arthur Weasley slapping me on the back, because I did so great with you."

"My parents will be there as well," she grinned.

"Oh," he grimaced. "That as well. Your father wanting to talk to me about whatnot and your mother still looking at me as if I had stolen all the money from her purse. If Longbottom's there, I'll go straight home again."

"You will not," she slapped his chest good-naturedly. "You will stay because of your god-daughter. We have more responsibility now."

He groaned and stood up, pushing her off his lap. "Let's get this over with then."

Hermione smiled gently and grasped his hand – leading (or rather dragging) him to the floo.

xx

She smiled at him gently – highly amused at the rant about the people he had to see. He wasn't that annoyed. She could say with all honesty that he enjoyed those gatherings, meeting those people – even when he usually ended up with Jamie on his lap, sitting somewhere next to Abe – and discussing the happenings. Really, if Severus had been a woman, one could almost say he gossiped with Abe – and Jamie cuddling with him. He and the boy had a special bond, she knew.

Every time they were invited by the Potters – or invited the Potters – Jamie would say a quick hello to her (if that) and for the rest of the time, seemed attached to Severus. There was something about him that probably only Jamie understood – but she enjoyed seeing it. Only – he had trouble holding little Katie. Granted, she was only two months old (or two and a half, as Dotty and Harry insisted), and she knew that he was afraid to break something, but he had to today.

He would be a good godfather. He would be a good father as well.

She kissed him on the mouth quickly – as soon as they arrived, once more, at the backroom of the Hog's Head. It was still the Hog's Head – even though, it was cleaner, and there was a blend between respectable – and not so respectable people, and especially muggle-borns – since this was the only place at Hogsmeade that sold muggle drinks.

"Oh, Severus?" she took hold of his sleeve and waited until he looked at her.

"Have you changed your mind and we can go back home?"

She shook her head and grinned. "No. But I suggest you hold Katie as much as possible."

"What? Why? I'm already stuck with Jamie all the time."

She smiled mysteriously and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Just to get the practise."

He looked at her – as dumbstruck as she had imagined – as startled and made a weird sound. "A... do you mean to say that...?"

"Exactly that, Severus," she smiled and put her chin on his chest. "Practise holding the wee one. You'll need it, daddy."

xx

_**The End**_

_**xx**_

_**That's it, folks. **_

_**Thank you so much for the support – french_lo, tatjana88 and all those who have reviewed, PMed or emailed me and helped with this story. I cannot put into words how much it meant to me to see that so many people enjoyed my story, have put it on alert, have put it on their favourites list and have reviewed. I am still very amazed what kind of reaction Acquittal got – a story that I started just because I needed to deal with a few issues myself and it has a sort of been a drug to sit down every day and write.  
**_

_**Again – thank you so much! I love you all!**_

_**Make sure to check out my new story. It will be an HG/SS titled (probably) 'From the Corner.'**_


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